


not meant to be a crumb

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Burnish Culture (Promare), D/s elements, Developing Relationship, Domesticity, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Promepolis citizens being mostly decent people, Sexual exploration, fluffy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27364018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: The Burning Rescue firehouse is turning into the place to go if you need to speak on behalf of the Burnish. There’s lockers cleared out for the files, tables pushed together into a tiny office. Ignis brought Lio a tablet computer on the fourth day, said “Government issue,” and dropped a taped-up charger next to it. The building hasn’t run out of coffee yet.They’re all right, these firemen.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 16
Kudos: 160





	not meant to be a crumb

**Author's Note:**

> So, I originally wrote this at the start of the year, roughly a millennium ago. I was going to make some additional tweaks, but promptly got distracted by... everything, so it's been sitting on my hard drive and gathering digital dust. It could probably use more polish, but at this point it's not likely to get it, and I feel like - rough or not - people might have a use, right now, for a soft little story about love in a slowly-improving world. 
> 
> Mentions of canon's relevant warnings (dystopia, fire, medical experimentation), plus a non-graphic dental procedure and a bad reaction to anesthesia. Minor (very minor) Ignis/OFC and Meis/Gueira/OFC, because I felt self-indulgent. 
> 
> Title from Mary Oliver's "Don't Hesitate." The author mentioned in-text is Terry Pratchett, the book quoted is _Hogfather_. 
> 
> Take care of each other, out there. To my fellow Americans, see you in the voting lines. Sic semper tyrannis, and until then, I hope this story makes your day that little bit less harsh.

For the rest of Lio’s life, he remembers the first hours after the Parnassus as an incoherent blur.

Sunlight in the city and rubble on the grass. Ashes on the wind, sobs of grief and of relief. Bubbling laughter, exhausted and half-mad and wild. His people, hobbling on stumps of legs to unfasten the locks on the next cell. Strangers, passing on the catwalks: _how do we open the doors? What do we need to do?_

“Is there anything you people need in particular?” someone asks Lio, and he blinks, blinks again, anger waiting at the back of his brain to see if it’s needed.

“What?”

The speaker has a scruff of graying hair sticking up at the back of his head, and glasses perched on an embarrassed face. “You Burnish,” he says. “Your medical needs — I’m a doctor, a GP. I guess that’s why I was…” He gestures at the ship around him. “Are there different medical guidelines?”

“We’re not Burnish anymore,” Lio says, after a pause. “There are no Burnish anymore, not after that last fire. We’re just ordinary now. Treat us… treat us like you’d see anyone else.”

The man’s face does something odd and twisted. “There’s not really medical precedent for dissolving limbs,” he mutters, and then shakes his shoulders out. “All right. We’ll figure it out. Nobody seems to be bleeding, at least. Medics!” he shouts over his shoulder, to a group of people — some of them in actual pajamas, some in scrubs, a few of them in street clothes and surgical masks. “Watch out for signs of shock, treat it normally.”

Lio’s mind is still running slowly, catching up. “You were one of Kray’s chosen,” he says. “Why are you here?”

“I didn’t ask to be chosen,” the man says. “I didn’t know anything about it — what it was, what he planned. And I swore an oath to heal people. We’re setting up a medical area —” He points to a door in the endless array. “Send anyone hurt to us. That includes people in shock — we’ll split that off into a separate area if we need to, as we triage.” He grimaces, and Lio knows why: so far people have been either the walking wounded, or simple ash.

“Got it,” Lio says; he’s not going to question obvious competence at his command, not when his people need all the help that they can get. “Keep me updated. If you can’t find me, find Meis and Gueirra, or —” Reckless trust just saved the world; maybe it’s time for a little bit more of it. “The Burning Rescue firefighters. Go to them first, if what you need are city resources.”

“Got it,” the man says. “Dr. Ardebit is distributing the ship’s stores right now, too.” Lio’s stomach twists at the name, but this isn’t the time to turn away any help that they can have. It’s not enough to earn her absolution, nowhere near, but her knowledge will get his people fed faster than anything else that he can name. Everything else is a question for later.

There are _so many_ questions for later, and all of them turn through Lio’s mind nonetheless as he turns the locks and unfastens clasps, each one shoving its way into his thoughts as soon as he shoves another out of his mind. Where will his people go, now? Where will they live? Do they come back to their old homes in the world, those who had them? Do they set out into the desert again? If they stay, do they hide what they once were, should they even try? How many have been lost? How will they, how will he, live with silence at their minds and cold air at their fingertips?

Will he ever fly again? Who can he be, without the fire? Will he be able to hold in his mind the sense of being as tall as the world, as vast as the stars, or will it fade from him like a dream upon waking? He and Galo had moved like one mind, the way he and his Promare had moved; Galo crossed his arms and Lio felt the motion in his own shoulders, already moving with him. It felt like Lio could look at him and see not flesh and bone but passion and noise and impossible kindness, running all the way down to the marrow. Was that an illusion, or was it real? What the hell did Galo see in _him,_ if they saw each other like that?

Are his lips as soft as Lio remembers, and as gentle, or was that just some kind of madness Lio dreamed while he was dying? What kind of responsibility did he want Lio to take? Is Lio going to get to kiss him again? _What the hell is wrong with him,_ that this is what he’s thinking about with the world in pieces around him?

Back to the cells, back to the head counts, back to food shelter water medicine morale safety, back to the next lock and the next hand that he can grasp.

Someone hands him water, at some point: the bottle is sealed, so he drinks it. Later someone else hands him a bagel smeared with a frightening pink paste, which even an amateur could poison, but by then he’s too hungry to care. The paste turns out to taste like fish and smoke, and he does not keel over dead.

He and Galo pass each other in the work, again and again. Each time Galo smiles, waves, squeezes Lio’s shoulder or his elbow or his hand, and Lio’s frivolous fucking heart skips over every time.

Lio doesn’t actually remember agreeing to stop working, which means he probably leaned against a wall and drifted off. At some point he’s being coaxed, half-carried, up the steps of a firehouse, and it’s Galo carrying him, though Galo’s walking like he’s drunk. Punch-drunk. It’s funny, so Lio laughs; the laughter hurts his throat, which reminds him of everything else, which means that he stops laughing.

“Come on,” Galo says, “just a little far-far-faaaaaahhhrthur,” doing his best around an earsplitting yawn. Lio sympathizes. The place is dim, and Galo moves through it like it’s familiar, and eventually Lio registers that he’s being presented with a bunk.

“People will be in and out, but like, just us,” Galo says. “Burning Rescue, I mean, and the rest of our guys, the other shifts. You’ll be safe. It’ll be fine.” He’s still got one arm around Lio’s waist, holding him upright. “We both need to sleep.”

“Mmm.” Lio shouldn’t, people need him, but he’s honestly not sure he’ll stay on his feet if Galo lets go. “Just for a little while.”

“Yeah, of course,” Galo says. Lio sways to a seat at the edge of the bunk, already missing the feeling of Galo’s arm around him. (Stupid. Priorities.)

“You’re sleeping too?”

“Just a little!” Galo gestures vaguely towards one of the other bunks. “Hey, um. Lio. I.” Lio forces his eyes to stay open, wondering what on earth could make this man sound even remotely hesitant, and Galo leans down. His hands cup Lio’s face, leaving streaks of soot that Lio doesn’t give a damn about; he leans in, and sets his lips to Lio’s again, as sure and careful as the first time. His mouth really is that soft.

“Oh,” Lio says, when Galo pulls back, and rests his forehead against Galo’s. “Oh.”

“I’m not letting you die,” Galo says, quiet and burning-sure. “I just found you. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

“I’m not easy to kill.” Lio runs his hands through Galo’s hair, because he can.

This isn’t the time, this isn’t the place. He doesn’t know Galo’s middle name or his favorite color or whether he leaves his socks in the middle of the room. (Okay, Lio will bet his beloved boots that Galo does.) For all he knows, within a month they won’t be able to stand each other. And Lio cannot give a single fuck about any of it. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No way you are,” Galo agrees. “Um, except to sleep. Which you should. I’m going to be right here.” Lio’s not sure which of them that’s meant for, and he’s far too tired to care.

“Bet I wake up before you,” Lio says, slumps backwards, and passes out.

* * *

He staggers awake to chatter and clinking dishes. His mouth tastes like death and all his muscles ache. This, at least, is nothing new.

The firehouse, though, is alien: the steady light, the echoing chatter, the distant smell of engine grease. The couch is a heap of tangled limbs, which after a moment of squinting resolves into Meis, Gueirra, and their girlfriend Cinder, with a single blanket twisted over and around the three of them. Galo is leaning on the counter just past them, his hair in even wilder spikes than before.

“You’re up!” he calls, the second Lio makes eye contact, and bounds over. “Here.” He hands Lio the ugliest mug that Lio has ever set eyes on: [description]. Lio intends to say something sarcastic, but then the smell hits his nose and what comes out of his mouth instead is: “ _Coffee._ ”

“Yup,” Galo says, grinning. “Your hero has you supplied.”

“No,” Lio says. “You are not allowed to be a morning person. I refuse.”

“It’s one in the afternoon, actually,” someone calls from the next room, and Lio glances to Galo in abject horror.

“No, it’s fine, it was about seven am when we went to bed,” Galo says. Thank God.

“What’s the status?” Lio asks, finally moving into the room properly. There’s a table he didn’t notice last night, and clustered around it are… well, no longer his enemies. Burning Rescue, or at least, so he assumes. Ignis, Remi and Varys he met yesterday. And in the middle —

“Eulalia!” he calls, and shoves through the firefighters to grab her hands. Eulalia is a tall woman, a solid inch taller than Lio, with hair somewhere between silver and blue in a wild-spiked bob around her face. “Good, you made it.”

“As if I wouldn’t,” she says, squeezing his hands. “Well, this is a fine mess.”

“Your favorite,” he says, and turns back to the group. “You’ve all met Eulalia, then? She’s my quartermaster.”

“I’m your damn third hand,” she says. She, like Meis and Gueirra, has more than earned the right to backchat him — and, all right, it’s a trait Lio likes in a person. “We’ve been working on housing solutions.”

“The engine is cleared,” Ignis adds, tapping a tablet on the table. “We’re still searching the rubble.”

“That’s taking up a lot of manpower,” Remi adds. “Hotels are filling up —”

“And not all of them are safe for us, of course,” Eulalia adds, tapping a notepad. She grimaces. “Beds are going to be an issue. We were just talking about who we can fit in the firehouse.” She’s got one of her charts going already, Lio can see, and for the thousandth time he thanks whatever God or fire there may be that Eulalia survived the blast that killed his mother. “The four of us —” that’ll be Lio, herself, Meis, and Gueirra — “need to be near here, of course, and let’s be frank, the three of you are probably targets for angry people right now. A hotel isn’t the best idea.”

“My place is five minutes south,” Galo says. “Lio, want to stay with me?”

“If it frees up a bed,” Lio says, because it’s only practical. “Eulalia, you’re probably going to want to be here even if we do free up some beds, we need you more than anyone.”

“We can arrange some privacy curtains around a bed,” Ignis says with a slight nod to her, which is a courtesy Lio hadn’t expected.

“I appreciate that,” she says. “Food is the next concern, and not just for us. The Parnassus stores are covering some of the gap, if we can get them where they need to be, and there’s a pizzeria offering hot meals to Burnish especially —”

“Wait, really?” That’s a kindness Lio didn’t expect.

“He’s making a point,” Ignis says. “There was an incident with Freeze Force.”

“He makes really good pizza, too,” Galo says, sliding against the table to bump Lio’s hip. “Here, have some.” He slides a plate to Lio, and, okay, that does smell good.

“What’s the water situation?” Lio asks, and stuffs a bite of pizza into his mouth. Ignis is tapping something on a tablet, pulling up an answer, while Eulalia is flipping to another dog-eared page in her pad of paper. Galo squeezes Lio’s shoulder.

“I’m gonna go dig people out of the rubble,” he says. “I’ll bring you home when I get back, okay?”

“Got it,” Lio says around a mouthful of pizza, and pauses. He’s not sure how to say goodbye to Galo, in the middle of all this; he settles for settling his hand over Galo’s, where it still rests on Lio’s shoulder, and giving a short sharp squeeze. It must be enough, because Galo nods, and then he’s out the door with a couple of people Lio doesn’t recognize.

The rest of the day is… well, it’s hellish, and not even in a way that Lio is used to, but it calls on the things that Lio can do. Eulalia picks up the slack where he can’t, and Ignis, too, is competent in a way Lio knows how to appreciate. Lio bullies a motel into opening its doors; he calls what feels like half the town until he gets hold of a former Burnish who can lead a few trucks to a food stash that Freeze Force most likely didn’t find; he shouts at a hospital administrator until the man stops getting in the way; he does a hundred thousand other things, and too little of it lets him use his hands. He does end up helping to drive crates of antibiotics and bandages across town — well, not helping to drive, but making furious phone calls from the truck’s passenger seat and unloading the boxes when he gets there. It’s something, at least.

Freeze Force is off the streets, disjointed and scattering. The civilian police aren’t sure how to handle Burnish, but seem to be mostly avoiding them. There’s been trouble, yes, some fights, but less violence than Lio might have feared. No mobs, not yet. Cell service is still up in most of the city, as far as Lio understands, and the news of Kray’s arrest, his plan, has spread across the world by now. Someone — Aina Ardebit’s sister, now on fire with regret, if Lio read Aina’s face half right — has dumped half the Foresight Foundation’s internal files onto the Internet, and the truth has spread too fast and far to ever be taken back. The people he left behind to die are not eager to rise on his behalf, and they haven’t come for the Burnish yet.

The sky is going gray with morning when he finally slides onto Galo’s motorbike, wraps his arms around Galo’s waist. He’s too tired to appreciate the experience properly, which is a waste and a half.

“Not too far now,” Galo murmurs around a yawn, and kicks the bike into gear. It roars differently from a bike made of shaped fire, and that’s a strange grief that Lio doesn’t need right now. He leans his head against Galo’s shoulder and holds on tight.

* * *

Galo’s building is the same tall blue-white that washes all of downtown Promepolis, the windows a tessellation of squares and inset triangles. Galo waves his keys vaguely at an electronic pad by the door and waves Lio towards an elevator, saying “The stairs are over there if you need ‘em.”

“Got it,” Lio says, knowing damn well why: _in case of fire do not use elevator._ And he can’t fly out the window anymore, either. They’re headed for the eighth floor out of twenty, a height that used to be utterly unremarkable to him. Galo grabs hold of Lio’s hand as soon as the elevator door chimes open.

“C’mon, down this way.” He squeezes Lio’s fingers, tugging him along. “I can get you keys!”

“Sounds good,” Lio says, a little dazed. Adrenaline can only carry him so far, and stubbornness only so much farther, and he’s losing his grip on both. Galo’s hand is warm on his, tugging him along, and Lio lets himself be led.

“Here we are,” Galo announces, getting the door open. “Uh, home sweet home!”

Lio’s not sure what he expected, really. What he gets is white walls and furniture that’s mostly brown: a tweed-looking couch with stuffing leaking from one arm, a dining table with a laptop at one end and a heap of mail in the middle, a sink that hosts some dishes that have been there far too long. Which makes sense; Galo hasn’t been here in days. There’s a bookshelf against one wall; Galo darts over to it, slamming a photo frame face-down. Lio can make some guesses.

“So, uh, make yourself at home,” Galo says, and zips over to the fridge. “This is the kitchen, obviously. My microwave’s under the counter here,” — he points — “which. Is good ‘cause all my leftovers are probably bad by now, shit.” Zip, zip, over to another door. “That’s the bathroom, I have towels in there — you can have the shower first if you want — and that’s obviously the bedroom, y’know, only two doors. Wait, I have a broom closet.” Zip. “Brooms!”

Evidently Galo, when flustered, decides to be in every possible place at once, limbs in every direction. It’s not entirely new; Lio remembers the core (will never forget it), but there was a lot going on then. It’s not any _less_ endearing when he has time to enjoy the spectacle.

“Normal brooms,” he observes. “No matoi?”

“I have one on the wall in the other room,” Galo says, absolutely blithely. Of course he does. “Anyway, uh. Do you want to shower and I’ll find you some pajamas or something?”

“That sounds good,” Lio says, because it does. Also he’s a little worried that Galo is going to fall over — this is a lot of energy to be burning after the days they’ve had. On the other hand, it’s Galo. He might be indefatigable.

The bathroom, too, is cluttered, with a razor left on the side of the sink and bottles piled in the shower. Several of them look empty. Lio takes the opportunity to get rid of his slow-growing stubble and then gives himself over to the rare joys of hot water. It’s the first time he’s felt warm in days, and it feels like he’s shedding not only dirt and grime but grief. Old selves, swirling down the drain.

He _is_ tired.

When he emerges, wrapped as best he can in a fraying towel, there are in fact clothes draped over the end of the couch, and a steaming mug sitting on the coffee table. “I made tea!” Galo explains, gesturing.

“You drink tea?” Lio asks, interested.

“Mostly coffee, but yeah, sometimes. That’s for you.”

“I figured,” Lio says. “Are you going to shower?”

“Yeah,” Galo says. “Uh, when you’re ready, the bed’s right in there.” He points. “I’ll be on the couch if you need anything! After I shower.”

“Wait, what?” Lio squints between Galo and the bed, just visible past the open door. “Are we not sharing? There’s plenty of space.”

“Oh! I mean, are you good with that?”

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed,” Lio says. “You could fit me, Gueira, _and_ Meis on that thing.”

“Okay.” Galo shrugs. “Uh, sorry if I kick or anything!”

“I’ll sleep through it,” Lio says, yawning halfway through the words. “Go on, get clean.” He nudges Galo’s arm, pushing him towards the shower, and Galo goes.

Galo’s pajama pants cover Lio’s feet completely, but there’s a drawstring, so at least he’s unlikely to accidentally flash the city. There’s a T-shirt too, soft and worn thin, which is surprising since Lio has seen Galo in a shirt exactly once, high in the mountains. The tea turns out to be chamomile, unsweetened, perfectly warm. The bed is a tangle of sheets and rumpled pillows, but it’s soft; the sheets are flannel, deep red, and if his people didn’t need him then Lio would never want to leave.

He’s already half-asleep when the door creaks, and then the mattress: Galo crawling into bed next to him. “Hey,” Galo whispers, tugging the blankets up around their shoulders. “You asleep?”

“Almost,” Lio mumbles back. “Something wrong?”

“Nah. Just. Hi.” The mattress shifts; Galo curls closer to him, yawning. “So, do you do this a lot? Share beds with people, I mean.”

“It wasn’t easy to get mattresses,” Lio says. “We shared. It’s been a while, but.” Only Meis and Gueira, in the last few years, and even then, not very often — usually he preferred to take the floor, let the others get their rest. And it was good to be alone, for a little while.

It’s not something he wants now. He bats a damp strand of hair out of Galo’s face, smiling. “G’night,” he says, and even in his own ears, his voice is muffled.

“Goodnight!” Galo says, and leans gently in to kiss him again. It’s chaste, gentle; a soft brush of lips, Galo’s forehead resting against his for a moment before he pulls away. There’s so much to do in the morning, and yet, Lio falls asleep smiling.

* * *

Of course, then they barely see each other for six weeks.

It’s not something either of them is trying to do, only the reality of rebuilding a city. It’s also not entirely _true:_ they wake up tangled together, shove themselves into clothes and ride in to the station together. They come home together at night with Lio pressed up against Galo’s back; they cycle in and out of the shower, crawl into bed next to each other to do it all again in the morning. They mostly eat with the Burnish, or at the communal food set out for the rescuers, but sometimes they stop at home for takeout and wolf it down from the couch, trying not to fall asleep over the paper bags and cardboard containers.

Galo kisses Lio goodnight; kisses him good morning; kisses him before they split off from each other for the day. When they pass each other in their work he touches Lio’s arm, squeezes his hand, kisses his hair or his cheek or, a couple times, the tips of Lio’s fingers. They still haven’t had a chance to actually _talk,_ about this, about anything; Lio still doesn’t know if Galo has a favorite color, a middle name. But he’d rather give up coffee than lose the little touches, the comfort of Galo’s heavy warmth next to him in the bed; and coffee and Eulalia’s competence are all that’s getting him through this.

It’s the hardest fight of his life, because it’s not a fight at all; because even when it _is_ a fight _,_ it’s nothing muscle and bone can do, nothing fire could do even if he had it. It’s spreadsheets, it’s math sprawled across half a notepad with Eulalia dividing supplies by headcounts and days, it’s water-flow, it’s furious calls to city officials, it’s pleading letters to the Red Cross and to Doctors Without Borders and to anyone who might help him get his people fed. It’s staring the world down until they give the Burnish space.

Sometimes he gets out of the firehouse, puts in a few hours doing something useful with his hands: digging pipes for water, helping to get something like shelter into place. There’s trailer parks springing up at the edge of town, crowded with his own folks. That’s when he runs into Galo most, before the day is over; Burning Rescue is clearing rubble, fighting what fires still erupt, but they’re also helping to build. Some of it’s for the people whose homes collapsed in Parnassus’s fall, but — not all of it.

The Burning Rescue firehouse is turning into the place to go if you need to speak on behalf of the Burnish. There’s lockers cleared out for Eulalia’s files, tables pushed together into a tiny office. Ignis brought Lio a tablet computer on the fourth day, said “Government issue,” and dropped a taped-up charger next to it. The building hasn’t run out of coffee yet.

They’re all right, these firemen.

One time, four weeks in, the common tables run low on food, and on the way home Galo pulls them over to pick up cheap Chinese. They spread it over the coffee table — Galo’s kitchen table is still full of mail — and Galo’s already through half of it by the time Lio’s out of the shower. Lio slumps into the corner of the couch, inhales sesame chicken, and, somewhere between one forkful and the next, he lets his eyes fall closed. Just for a moment; just because the light is starting to hurt his head.

He comes awake in a lurch of motion and the sound of Galo’s voice: “Hey, c’mon, it’s just me.” No threat here. The world sways around him, and Lio realizes that he’s been picked up, is settled in Galo’s arms. He tries to complain; his tongue is heavy in his mouth, and the words come out as “Mmmf.”

“Shhh,” Galo says, hitching Lio a little higher in his arms. Lio gives up and burrows closer into his chest. “Just gonna get us both to bed, okay? That’s all. Wow, you’re light. I gotta feed you more.” _It’s not your job to feed me,_ Lio wants to argue, but it’s not worth the effort. He’s warm, and Galo’s here.

He registers, vaguely, when they cross into the bedroom. Galo sets him down in gentle inches, bedsprings creaking under his knees. He goes still for a moment, and then Lio feels a finger trace the line of his cheek, brushing a strand of hair away.

“If you’d died I might’ve killed Kray,” Galo says, soft in the dark. “I would’ve wanted to.” Another soft brush of his fingers, another lock of hair tucked behind Li’s ear. “It’s kind of scary, you know? I don’t like wanting to kill people. I save them. But if you’d died…” The mattress creaks again; Lio feels the covers move. “You didn’t, though. So it worked out.” An arm settles over Lio’s chest, pulling him close to Galo’s side.

Lio is trying to figure out what to say to that, and then it’s morning, the alarm beeping in his ear.

“I fucking hate that thing,” he says, as is becoming the morning tradition.

“Get up,” Galo says, and drags all the covers off the bed as he sits up, as is also becoming tradition. Lio groans like his guts are being yanked out with a fish-hook and rolls onto the floor. It’s a relief to be able to complain, in truth; to grumble and mutter and drag himself out of bed with all the resentment in the world. Galo only ever laughs at him, and sometimes tosses pillows at his head. It’s nice.

“Hey,” Lio says, stealing the comb before Galo can get to it, not that the thing ever actually does Galo any good in the first place. “Thanks for getting me to bed last night.” Galo, halfway through dragging his pants on, goes still. (It’s. A nice view. The muscles of his back, the gradient tan-line of the skin over his hips, a decent glimpse of the top of his ass. Lio wants to touch him so badly, and they need to be at the firehouse in twenty minutes.)

“Hah, no problem!” Galo says, a half-second late. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember any of that.”

Lio could, very easily, have deduced that if he fell asleep on the couch and woke up in bed, Galo had something to do with the interim steps. Instead of pointing that out, he says, “Some of it.” And then, impulsive, he takes three quick steps across the room and hugs Galo tight around the waist, leaning his cheek against Galo’s back. “You’re a good man, Galo.”

“Mmm.” Galo covers Lio’s hands with his own, squeezing back; Lio can feel him take a deep breath in, let it out again. “Someone has to be, right?”

The alarm goes off again.

“ _Shit,”_ Lio says, and stumbles back, looking for his belts. One is under the bed; the others are fuck knows where. “Can you —”

“Coffee coming up!” Galo salutes, smacks the alarm clock, and bolts for the kitchen.

It’s always like that. There’s just no time.

(Sometimes he wakes up hard, curled in the circle of Galo’s arms; sometimes he wakes up with Galo’s cock pressing hot and huge against his hip. Sometimes both. Sometimes it’s just mornings, barely noticeable; sometimes it has a lot more to do with big hands on his waist and the smell of clean human in his bed. Galo hasn’t said anything about it yet, and there’s always the alarm chasing at their heels. Lio jerks off in the shower a lot; it doesn’t help.)

* * *

It’s a Wednesday, Lio thinks — probably Wednesday? — when his two-front battle with a spreadsheet is interrupted by knocking. This is a little peculiar, since he and his people are still working out of a corner of the firehouse, and there is, in fact, no door. When he looks up, there’s a silver-haired man tapping his fist against the wall, looking uncomfortable and out of place.

“Hello?” he says. “I’m Dr. Aviva. Mr. Fotia, Mrs. Steele?”

“Eulalia is fine,” Eulalia says, standing to take his hand. “Lio, you’re going to want to hear this. Doctor, take a seat.”

“Apollo is fine,” he says, glancing around. There’s a stack of metal folding chairs along the wall; after a moment’s hesitation, he claims one for himself and sets it at the end of the table. “Mr. Fotia, we met briefly at the Parnassus, though I imagine you had a lot on your mind.”

“I… right.” After a moment’s searching, Lio remembers. “Yes, I remember. It’s good to get your name.” It isn’t, really, but he’s been deploying courtesy wherever he can; it’s easier to retract than rudeness. Less satisfying, though.

“I’ve been speaking to Eulalia about a problem,” the man says. “She suggested I come speak to you both when I had a chance, so I came over as quickly as I could.”

Lio darts a glance at Eulalia. “I didn’t get a chance to give you the summary,” she says. “I just wrote him last night — you came faster than I expected, Doctor.”

“The sooner the better, I thought,” he says. “In brief: I’ve been working with the survivors of the Parnassus a great deal, but the problem is that we know almost nothing about the ex-Burnish.”

“What would you need to know about us?” Lio asks, stiffening. “We’re the same as anyone else.”

Dr. Aviva winces. “I… this is going to sound terrible, and tact has never been my strongest suit. Please hear me out. Medically speaking, no, you’re not.” Lio raises his eyebrows, leans his head on one curled fist. Dr. Aviva sighs. “I know, I know. But half the patients I’ve dealt with seem to have a low fever — literally, approximately fifty percent. I’ve been keeping track. Which means I don’t know if they’re feverish, or if the former Burnish run at a higher temperature than the standard and I should be watching the other half for hyperthyroidism. Which would be statistically unlikely, except that for all I know the — Promare? — interacted some way with the thyroid gland and you all _are_ at elevated risk for hyperthyroidism.”

“Hasn’t Kray studied us enough?” Lio demands.

“Not nearly,” Dr. Aviva says. Lio’s mouth drops open, and the doctor winces. “Sorry, sorry, that sounded awful — what I mean is, this isn’t what he was tracking. Unsurprisingly. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you he didn’t care about Burnish quality of life —”

“I don’t,” Lio says.

“— right, right. But even if he had — well, we’d hardly be in this situation in the first place, would we? But even then, the departure of the Promare could have changed the equation any number of ways, and _we don’t know._ ”

“I see.” Slowly, Lio straightens. “So, what is it that you want?”

“Data,” Dr. Aviva says. “The more people I can scan, the more data I can gather, the more information I’ll have and the better the care I can provide. But people are hesitant to agree to be tested.”

Lio can’t help it; he snorts. Dr. Aviva sighs.

“Yes. I did see the footage. It’s not that I don’t know _why_. But, please — patients are going to suffer, maybe even die, because I don’t know what’s a warning sign and what’s a normal side effect of hosting an alien fire-form.”

“What is it that you think I can do?” Lio asks.

“Agree to be tested,” Dr. Aviva answers instantly. “Do it publicly. Ask people to come with you, because from what I’ve seen, they’ll follow you. And then prove that you came out unhurt and alive. I’m not asking for anything invasive — we’ll draw some blood, take some scans, that’s it. Minimal inconvenience, very little pain. Whatever else you need to be comfortable with that, we’ll find a way to make it happen. Just tell me.”

“You have an interesting approach to negotiation,” Lio says, more to fill the silence and buy some time to think than for anything else.

“I’m not negotiating,” Dr. Aviva says. “I’m asking. Pleading, frankly. I understand trust isn’t high, but we want the same thing. We want people healthy.”

“Why did Kray choose you?” Lio asks. “Of all the doctors in the city.”

“Because my father was a lawyer and _his_ father was a surgeon, etcetera,” Dr. Aviva says immediately. “Politics, prestige, all of that. I think my uncle played golf with Kray’s father.” He rolls his eyes. “I never really liked my uncle.”

Lio drums his fingers on the table. “No more than one day per person,” he says. “We’ll keep a detailed roster of everyone who goes in or out. Nobody goes anywhere alone. You’ll have me, Meis, or Gueirra in every group — on different days. And I’m not forcing anyone into this.”

“Done,” Dr. Aviva says instantly. “Done. It’ll double as a health screening, too — I’ll tell everyone anything definitive we find before we anonymize the data. I’ll need a little bit of time on my end to arrange things, make sure I have machine access — do we want to look at your calendar now?”

From there things devolve into calendars, cross-referencing, a flurry of emails. Lio talks to people, and they’re wary, but he can watch shoulders relax and eyes go bright when he says he’s going to be among the people test. It terrifies him, sometimes, the trust his people have in him.

Eventually Lio is one of a couple of dozen people climbing onto a city bus to the hospital, where Dr. Aviva meets them outside and herds them along into a conference room.

“Two at a time, of course,” he says. “Everyone, if you have any questions about what we’re doing, stop and ask me what you want to know. If anything hurts or makes you uncomfortable, stop me and we’ll see how to fix it. You can leave at any time.” He pauses, looking over the group. “Also, um. There’s going to be donuts later, and. I brought stickers, if any kids wanted them.”

“Who counts as a kid?” one girl asks. Lio would put her at about thirteen.

“Anyone who wants a sticker, I think,” Dr. Aviva says, and stifles laughter as there’s a general run on the sticker book from everybody under twenty, and at least two people significantly older than Lio. “All right, all right, I see this was a good decision. There’s water in the corner, and like I said, you can leave at any time. Just let Mr. Fotia know, and if you’re planning to come back, speak to one of the receptionists so they can make sure you get let back in.”

It’s a long dull day, though Lio can email administrators just as well from the waiting room as the firehouse. The doughnuts are kind of stale, but not enough that Lio suspects it’s an intentional slight, just a consequence of time. He grits his teeth through the blood draw, but it’s the MRI that turns his stomach, that curls his hands into white-knuckled fists at his sides. He does his best to calm himself before he’s back in anyone else’s sight; he’s not without practice, at this.

When they shuffle out of the hospital at last, long after dark, their bus is ready for them, and there’s somebody leaning against the door. Someone with familiar spikes of hair.

“Hey!” Galo says, waving, and yawns. “I wasn’t sure how you were planning to get back, so I came by.”

“Oh.” Lio met the bus driver at the firehouse, but she’ll be circling back through the shelters and the cheap motels outside of town, the ones being subsidized by funding Lio and Eulalia have wrung out of the world. Lio’s plan was to take two ordinary bus routes and a half-mile walk home, if he didn’t fall asleep and miss a stop. “I hope you didn’t wait too long.”

“Nah,” Galo says. “Anyway, I had something to do. See?” He holds up a tangle of cord. Lio stifles a laugh, because there are elements of the world that didn’t make it to the desert — he has missed many, many of Lucia’s jokes — but this? This he knows.

“Is that a friendship bracelet?”

“Yup. I got given one, too.” Galo tilts his hand, and yeah, there’s a ring of pink and lime green running around his wrist. “She said now I have to give her one, so.”

“Are you going to see her again?”

“Oh yeah, we’re working on clearing out some of the wreckage right by her house.”

“Still?” Lio’s lost track, a little, of Burning Rescue’s end of operations.

“Yeah, just some of the lower-priority stuff. It’s a side street, chewed up the asphalt a bunch.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” Also, Burning Rescue has been building as much as anything else, these days. From some of what’s been said, Lio’s not sure it’s normal firefighter duties, but it’s been happening anyhow, and they’ve brought some of the city’s other departments with them. Half the time he’s out on a site, he can see Aina’s little bug zipping around overhead, laden with wood or metal beams. “One second, let me explain where I’m going.” He jogs over to the group, offers a brisk explanation as everyone’s loading onto the bus.

“I thought you said nobody goes off alone,” someone says — an older woman, one with a bright purple sticker still decorating her chest. She’s frowning; Lio blinks.

“That? Oh, that was the hospital. This is just Galo — Galo Thymos,” he elaborates, gesturing behind him. From the corner of his eye, he can see Galo wave. “Don’t worry. If I’m not safe with him, I’m not safe with anyone.”

“Ah, he’s that boy. Sorry, boss.” She shrugs.

“Don’t be. I’m glad you’re keeping an eye out for us.” He gives her a smile, waves to the younger kids on the bus, and loops on back to Galo.

“All right?” Galo asks.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” He slides onto the bike, waiting, and curls into Galo’s back as soon as he’s there. One of these days he’ll learn to ride a motorcycle that doesn’t twitch itself automatically to his will. When things are a little less urgent, when there’s time. In the meantime, Galo will get him home.

Everything’s backwards. He shouldn’t be able to count on Galo’s smile in the morning, and Galo shouldn’t be here, unasked, to pick him up after a tiring day. Not this soon, and not this easy.

But fuck it. Lio hasn’t made it this far by turning a good thing down.

* * *

Six weeks after the fall of Parnassus, Ignis stands up at shift’s end in the firehouse kitchen and says, “All right, everyone, listen up. I’m closing out the firehouse for seventy-two hours, starting tomorrow.”

There’s a general outcry; he waits it out.

“I know,” he says, when the noise begins to die. “I hear you. But we’ve all been working too damn long with no break, and we’ve got the out-of-town crews to cover emergency fires. I’ve got it coordinated. We’re not going to be any good to anyone if we let ourselves get sloppy, and we’re going to get sloppy. All of you. Three days off, and we’re shifting off emergency scheduling after that. Don’t make us rescue the rescuers.”

Lio’s not sure what that last sentence means, but it’s apparently a department phrase, because most of Burning Rescue slumps back with looks of irritated compliance.

“You don’t actually have any authority over us,” Lio points out, gesturing to the Burnish in the room. It’s a little difficult to gesture to them, since the four of them are in four different places, but he manages.

“Boss,” Eulalia says. “Give me a second in private?”

“…All right,” Lio says warily, because he does trust Eulalia’s judgment better than anyone’s — even, sometimes, his own. He follows her off into the side room.

She settles her hands on her cane. “Boss,” she says. “The man’s right. And — can you do me a favor? For the rest of this conversation, I want you to remember that I’ve never played this card before, and I watched you take your first steps.”

“I didn’t know that,” Lio says, instead of anything else.

“Yup. I yelled to your mama so she could come see.” She sighs. “You make your own choices, but you’re running yourself into the ground. Still. And — like I said, remember I’ve never played this one till now. But you’re twenty-four and you’ve never dealt with city bureaucracy before.”

“If you have a complaint about my work —” Lio starts, pulling himself as tall as he can. She shakes her head.

“Not what I meant, boss. Never what I meant. No one could question you. But…” She sighs. “I’m tired and I’ve used up all my tact today. What you do, you’ve done well. I’m not telling you to stop. Just — you’re not the only one who can do most of it. Not by far. Take the days off. Take some more, after you’re done. We’ll get by, and.” She sighs. “As your friend, Lio, and your mother’s friend. I try not to do this, but I gotta let it slip out this once. You have the chance to live your life, a little, right now. I don’t want to see you pass that up.”

“I’m not going to lounge around when our people still need help,” Lio — okay, almost growls.

“Hell, Lio, I’m not telling you to stop. Never that. Just… you’re a damn fine general. You always were. But this isn’t a war anymore.” Hesitantly, she reaches out, settles her hand on his shoulder. “If you want to be a leader now, fine. An administrator, same thing. I’m glad to have you. But take some time to be a person, too. Your mama would want that for you, now that you can.”

Lio swallows, and swallows again. “If you do this to me in front of anyone I’m going to make sure you regret it,” he says.

“I know,” she says. “Give me some credit, I made it this long. I should be able to go another ten years before I try this on you again.”

“You’d better,” he says, and sighs. “All right. I’ll take the break.” He shoves the door back open, trying not to stomp. He’s not sure he’s convinced enough to convince Meis and Gueirra, but they just look at him, look at each other, and Meis shrugs one shoulder. Sometimes Lio envies the two of them their easy closeness; for all they give him shit, he often finds himself a little apart.

“Miz Eulalia,” Ignis says, appearing from one corner. “I know you’re still staying in the firehouse.”

“That I am,” she says. “Worried I’ll cause trouble with the place to myself?”

“Actually, I was going to ask if you had a place to stay,” he said. “Like Lio said, I can’t order you to rest, but I can definitely encourage it. I’d be happy to offer you my home, or help you find somewhere else more comfortable to stay.” He offers her a low nod, almost a little half-bow. Eulalia regards him for a moment.

“You know, I appreciate that,” she says. “Let me get my bag packed up.”

“Of course,” he says, and offers her his arm. She takes it delicately, letting him lead her towards the bunks.

Lio sulks over to Galo, and finds him and Aina staring at each other with their eyebrows making a bid for their respective hairlines.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“ _That,”_ Aina says.

“The boss is polite,” Galo says. “I mean, he always is.”

“Yeah, he’s not that polite.”

“Well, good,” Lio says. “Eulalia deserves his respect.” Galo and Aina look at each other again. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Galo says at last. “It’s not really our business anyway. Hey, you wanna get French fries on the way home?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Lio says, knowing he’s being distracted and not caring. Hell yes, he wants French fries.

* * *

They get French fries. Lio has vague aspirations of staying up late, if there’s no alarm waiting for them in the morning; then he gets in the door and realizes he’s already at serious risk of sleeping all seventy-two hours. Enjoying the time off is going to have to wait.

For the first time since Parnassus, he wakes up to an empty bed. It’s a little alarming — he’ll deny the distressed half-asleep snuffling noise if anybody ever asks — but he can hear Galo moving around in the other room, which answers the question pretty easily. Also, he can smell coffee.

“Morning!” Galo greets him, once Lio has followed his nose out to the living room. “Sleep well?”

“Yup,” Lio says. Galo’s already pouring him a mug of coffee; he takes it with a mumbled, “Thanks.”

“I was gonna go get groceries and stuff after this,” Galo says. “I found some frozen waffles, but everything else in the fridge is… it’s _bad_ in there.”

“Makes sense,” Lio grants. “Did you eat all of the waffles?”

“Come on! Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Lio says.

“Not on purpose, I wouldn’t!” Galo protests, already rummaging in the freezer. “Of course I saved you some.” He brandishes a battered cardboard box as evidence.

“Well, thank you.” Lio claims his rightful share of breakfast and pops the waffles in the toaster, then lifts himself up to perch on the counter. “Do I come with you for groceries?”

“I don’t think I can fit you and the stuff on the bike,” Galo says. “I need to get toilet paper and stuff, so. Bulky. You can write stuff down if you want anything, though?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Lio says, and pauses. “Wait. Oranges?”

“Oranges it is,” Galo promises. Lio realizes something.

“I’ve been living off you this whole time, haven’t I?”

“Nope,” Galo says, folding his arms. Lio frowns.

“What do you mean, nope? I have.”

“I mean _nope,_ ” Galo says. “You’ve been working harder than anybody to get everyone taken care of, and you don’t get to be the only Burnish who doesn’t deserve a place to stay. If they don’t have to try and pay us all back, neither do you. So there.” He points a fork at Lio for emphasis.

“But —”

“Uh-uh, no buts. C’mon.” Galo levels him with a look. “Tell me you think that what you should’ve been doing with your time is worrying about how to pay me for groceries.”

“I can’t believe I’m losing an argument to you,” Lio grumbles.

“It’s my indomitable spirit,” Galo says cheerfully, and tops up Lio’s coffee.

Galo does in fact head out immediately after breakfast, and Lio takes a look around the apartment and decides that if he’s staying here, he may as well make himself some kind of useful. He’s never had a house to clean before, but he’s reasonably sure that recycling the teetering mountain of takeout containers is going to be a decent first step.

He has a key — Galo got it for him that first week — so it’s easy to run a few loads of garbage out to the bins behind the building. The scattered drifts of dishes he loads into the dishwasher, though he’s not sure how to start it; laundry he manages to get all in the one hamper. It gives him a chance to take stock of the apartment, too, instead of passing through it to fall asleep and get out the door.

It’s not exactly a complicated layout: one big room split in two rough halves, more by the arrangement of the furniture than any part of the building. One wall is the kitchen cabinets, and its half of the room belongs to the kitchen table; the facing wall is all windows, that bright Promepolis glass that looks blue from outside. That side of the room has the couch, the beat-up coffee table, the TV they’ve used a couple times — they’ll flip through the news stations over food and turn it off after five minutes. By the couch is a narrow bookshelf, which Lio’s been wondering about for a while. Now seems like as good a time as any to look closer.

The photo of presumably-Kray has vanished in the last few weeks, but there’s one of Galo, Aina and Lucia with ice cream smudged on all three noses. Framed above the bookshelf are another couple pictures, one of Burning Rescue, another what looks like some kind of academy lineup. Galo’s hair flares up at one end like spires on a skyline.

There’s some kind of speaker on the shelf too, and more books than a cursory introduction to Galo would lead you to expect. A lot of them have to do with firefighting: history, some memoirs. A couple of extremely creased and battered paperbacks that Lio realizes with delight are romance novels — _also_ featuring firefighters, of course. He’s not sure whether to tease Galo about this or simply treasure the knowledge forever, to make himself laugh on dreary days.

There’s other stuff, though. A cookbook, smeared with floury use. A history of Promepolis, including the city it used to be. _The Essential Guide to Motorcycle Maintenance. The Best of James Herriot,_ whoever that is. _101 Easy Origami Patterns,_ leaning up against a bright blue dumbbell. There’s no origami anywhere in evidence.

By the door to the building’s hall there’s a constellation of things tacked up: some thank-you cards, a couple postcards, a greeting card with flowers on it that doesn’t look like anything anyone Lio has ever met would ever send. Reading it feels a little too much like snooping, so he doesn’t, but the curiosity nags at him. Hung on a hook is what looks like a lump of half-melted glass, with a cord strung through one loop of it. Lio touches the surface with two fingers, marveling at the glossy curve of it. It feels like an organic thing, not something someone made. Fire lets nature shape everything in the end.

That’s pretty much it, for decoration, except for a diploma in a cheap plastic frame that perches apart from everything else. There’s a plaid blanket slumped by the couch, which Lio takes the opportunity to fold; there’s nothing else, no pillows or whatever else normal people put on their couches. The bedroom Lio knows better; there is, as threatened, a matoi hanging on one wall, a dresser, all of the clothes that should be in the dresser and very rarely are, and a no-longer-overflowing wastebasket. A tiny nightstand that mostly holds Galo’s phone. Not much more.

Is that an ordinary house? An empty one, one over-full? Lio doesn’t really know. It’s not that he hasn’t moved through the ordinary world, in disguise and wreathed in fire, but what he knows is: businesses. Government centers. High-rise office buildings, too-crowded shopping malls, the long roads where trucks can be robbed for food. Supermarkets. Cheap motels that take payment in cash and prepaid Visa cards. Not homes — never homes, when there’s a whole world of better things to burn.

He didn’t long for normalcy, growing up. He wanted food and fire and a more just world. Now here he is, cleaning an apartment he shares with a ridiculous miracle of a boy, going to work each day on something like an ordinary schedule; it’s still not normalcy, but it’s something close, and he doesn’t have the faintest idea of what to do with it.

Lio shakes off the melancholy and goes back to the bookshelf, pulling out one of the romance novels. He wants to know how absurd this is going to get.

Forty minutes later, he’s utterly engrossed — not so much in the love story, which hasn’t gotten all that far yet, but the heroine’s sister is fighting with her about putting herself in danger, and it tugs at something familiar in Lio that he hadn’t known was there. It’s been a long time since he had that fight — not since his mother died — but, well, it hurts to watch his people walk into danger, even when he trusts them to weigh their own risks. And he _did_ have that fight from the other side, a lot, before his mother died.

(Eulalia told him once that it runs in the family, to take risks you’d never let anyone else shoulder. The memory sits uncomfortably next to Galo’s argument from before. How do you live with it, knowing someone you love plays dice with their own life, and if they die a part of you will go with them? If there’s good you can do with a risk, and your life isn’t wholly your own anymore, are there any choices that aren’t selfish? How can you ever ask someone you love to be less brave?)

He’s interrupted by the door, and Galo blowing in underneath a heap of rustling bags. “Hey!” Galo says, juggling a quart of milk, his keys, and a massive sack of potatoes. “Oh, good, you found something to do.”

“Yeah,” Lio says, closing the book a little guiltily, and gets up to rescue the milk. Galo is shouldering a fairly unreasonable number of groceries at once, and Lio takes a covert moment to appreciate what it does to his arms. “I didn’t know you read much.”

“Yeah, I went through everything that came up at the library when I searched firefighters a while back,” Galo says. “Like, a _while_ back, before I was in the Academy. High school stuff. And then they sell off the paperbacks every couple of years so I grabbed some of the stuff I liked.”

That… clicks several things into place. “Is that how you know so much about the matoi?” Lio asks, digging groceries out of the bags and immediately getting stymied by how he has no idea where they ought to go.

“Oh, just stick those in the fridge anywhere,” Galo says, noticing. “Leave out some of the onions, though, I’m gonna make stew. And yeah, that’s how I found out about it in the first place, so then I looked up some more stuff.”

“Mmm.” Lio nods, shoving things into the fridge. “And you cook, apparently. Can I help?”

“Sure. And I mean, I can’t _cook_ cook, just do some easy stuff. Like stew, you just chop stuff and put it in a pot for a while basically. But there’s a lot of chopping so if you want do some of it that’s awesome.”

“I’m pretty good at chopping,” Lio says with a small smile. He misses his sword, sometimes.

“Don’t be smug!” Galo glares in his direction, utterly unconvincingly. “Anyway, the cutting board is… ugh, somewhere, I think it’s in the cabinet? That one. If it’s been in the sink this whole time I’m going to have to throw it away, that would suck.”

“No, it’s here,” Lio says, investigating the relevant cabinet. “How big do I chop them?”

“Uhhh… I dunno, bite-size? Like, smallish bite.”

“Got it.” Lio realizes he hasn’t gotten everything away and starts shoving cereal into the cabinets. He pauses, glancing over at where Galo’s firing up the stove. “Wait, is that _beef?_ In stew?”

“Yeah?” Galo blinks at him. “Do you not like beef?”

“No, beef’s great,” Lio says, blinking. “Just — really? In stew?”

“Beef stew is a thing!” Galo protests. “Why’s that weird? I don’t get it.”

“Isn’t the point of stew that you don’t have to think about what you’re eating?” Lio asks, and Galo’s face does something strange, some cross between concern and guilt.

“What did you make stew out of?” he asks.

“Rabbit, lizard, vulture…” Lio shrugs. “Whatever we could find. Cooking it was easy, at least.” His hand moves, familiar, in the shape that would reach into the fire, pull out whatever kind of cooking pot he liked. Wait. “How do normal people hold cooking pots, anyway?”

“Potholders!” Galo says, brandishing what looks like a tiny quilt with a loop on it. “Man, I didn’t even think about that, the cooking thing.”

Lio shrugs one shoulder and starts scrubbing the potatoes. “Most people didn’t think about a lot of things,” he says.

“We should’ve.”

It’s true, so Lio just nods and keeps scrubbing.

“Hey, can you put something on?” Galo asks. “Just hit the speaker, there’s probably something on it.”

“What, you can’t get it yourself?” Lio asks, wiping his hands off on the edge of what is, if you want to get technical about it, Galo’s shirt.

“I’m browning the meat!” Galo protests, waving a spatula. “I’m watching it.”

“Excuses,” Lio says, but he does in fact pad over to the speaker. He’s expecting music, probably loud and extremely full of guitars, but instead what he gets is an elderly-sounding, extremely British man reading something steadily out. Galo doesn’t seem surprised, so: well, all right. Lio gets back to the potatoes; the sound of the radio mixes with the splashing of water, easy background. The voice booms oddly at points, and something in the boom catches Lio’s attention as he moves on to chopping:

“ _To be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape.”_

“What is this?” Lio asks to Galo.

“Oh, it’s a book,” Galo says, and shoves the pot to another burner. “Hey, gimme the carrots.”

“ _You have to start out learning to believe the little lies.”_

“ _So we can believe the big ones?”_

“ _Yes. Justice. Mercy. Duty. That sort of thing.”_

Lio frowns, glancing over to Galo. He seems utterly undisturbed, rinsing the carrots happily. A bead of water runs down his forearm, along the corded muscle. Lio didn’t used to be this easily distracted.

“ _That’s not the same at all!”_

“ _You think so? Then take the universe and grind it down to the finest powder and sieve it through the finest sieve and show me one atom of justice, one molecule of mercy. And yet —”_

Lio is just starting to wonder if this is some book that Kray endorsed and Galo forgot the source — was there something about death in there too? — when he looks up and sees Galo mouthing along with the words:

“ _But humans have got to believe in those things, or what’s the point?”_

“ _My point exactly.”_

“Ah,” Lio says quietly. Galo doesn’t seem to hear; he shakes the water off the last of the carrots, nudging Lio sideways so he can grab a smaller knife. Lio makes room on the cutting board, as best he can. This is not really a two-person kitchen.

“ _People have to believe in things that aren’t true,”_ and this close Lio can hear Galo whispering along under his breath. _“How else can they become?_ ”

“Galo,” Lio says. “What’s this book about?”

Galo blinks. “Um. Stuff? Christmas and some wizards and a teacher. And death. But like, a skeleton.”

“ _What?”_

“I don’t know how else to explain it!” Galo protests. “A lot of stuff happens.”

“Did I just hear him say the words Tooth Fairy?”

“Yeah, that’s there too,” Galo says, leaving Lio to wonder if he’s having some kind of stroke. “Hey, your voice got kind of British there.”

“My mother was,” Lio says, rolling his eyes. “People said I picked up some of it when I was talking to her. I don’t know, I never heard it — _”_

“Heard it,” Galo echoes, doing something atrocious with the vowels. “It’s totally happening, that’s cute.”

“I am not cute.”

“Yes you are,” Galo says, and actually _boops his nose._ Lio gapes for a moment, then reaches around for a discarded carrot-green and chucks it at him. They’re not exactly his projectile of choice, but Galo’s defensive swat is still too slow to save himself.

“So the firefighter books I understand,” Lio says, exactly as if he’s never thrown vegetable greens in his life. “Is there a book about firefighter wizards?”

“Oh, that’d be awesome,” Galo says, because he is impervious to mockery. “No, I… uh, so, Kray said something about what happened to my parents, right?”

“Some of it,” Lio says, as the temperature in the room seems to drop about ten degrees. “There was a fire?”

“Yeah, that.” Galo shrugs; Lio moves across the kitchen to turn the book’s volume down. “I wasn’t that old, I guess, I don’t remember a lot. But my mom had this shelf of books in the living room, I guess? I didn’t even realize I remembered them, but then I saw these books in the library and I was like oh hey. I know those. But they were kind of hard to read, so I started getting the audiobooks and I put them on when I’m doing something else.” He looks up, shrugging. “That’s all.”

“And they were wizard books?” Lio asks.

“They were this one guy who wrote about a lot of stuff. There’s some about some guards named Vimes and Carrot and Nobby and stuff, I like those too. Police guys, but they’re more like us than Freeze Force, they stop bad stuff from happening.” He shrugs. “We can stop this one, though, it’s near the end anyway so it’s probably confusing.”

“Tooth fairies,” Lio mutters. The narrator is talking about a fireplace poker, and if Galo had offered any other explanation in the world, he’d suspect he’s being pranked. Instead he just turns the speaker off before it can get even stranger.

“We don’t really know what happened to my father,” he offers, into the quiet. “He didn’t come back from a mission when I was young. But my mother… she led Mad Burnish before I did, and. When I was sixteen, there was a mission. We got caught by Freeze Force — not in Promepolis, it was outside of Detroit. I got hit. So did she.”

“And someone rescued you, right?” Galo asks.

“She did,” Lio says. “She gave me the last of the fire she had.”

“Oh.” Galo puts the paring knife down. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t talk about it much.” Lio shrugs. “I look a lot like her.” What that has to do with anything, he isn’t sure.

“I kind of look like my dad,” Galo says. “A little. I have a couple of pictures, I just don’t keep them out. You could see them sometime, though, if you want?”

“Sometime,” Lio says, letting out a slow breath. “I’d like that.” He leans against Galo for a moment, then goes back to chopping potatoes. After a moment, Galo joins him.

“You can start some music,” Lio says into the silence. “It’s fine.”

“Okay, cool.” This is another thing to appreciate about Galo, his willingness to bounce on to the next thing. The music he puts on is more or less what Lio expected back at the beginning of all this, all guitars and drums.

“Okay,” Galo says, tossing carrots and potatoes into the stewpot. He grabs a bottle of wine and, to Lio’s surprise, glugs that into the pot too; this is going to be possibly the most decadent stew of Lio’s life. “There, that should be good. And I got some crusty bread and stuff too, it’ll be great.”

“You’re making the stew from scratch but you buy the bread?” Lio asks, boosting himself up to sit on the counter.

“Bread’s fancy!” Galo protests.

“There are four ingredients in bread and one of them is water.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes,” Lio says. He didn’t make it too often himself, but it was a good task to give someone still getting used to their power, or someone worn-down or wounded who wanted to be useful. Take the bread, knead, keep it warm while it rises, get it cooked. A good way to practice your control over the Promare.

“Where did you learn to cook, if stew isn’t fancy and bread is?” Lio asks.

“Oh, around.” Galo shrugs. “I moved around a lot growing up, you know, a bunch of different places, and after a while I learned to cook whatever I liked at each place so I could still have it after I left. I make a mean quesadilla too.”

“Ah.” Lio considers that, and considers the many children of the foster system who came angry to the Burnish. He glances around the room again, at the pictures of Burning Rescue and no one else. He’s picked up a bit of what happened between their second meeting and the third, enough to know that Galo vanished into Kray’s secret cells for a quiet stretch of days. Enough to put together now that Aina Ardebit was the only one who went looking for him.

Lio tries to fit _Galo Thymos_ and _lonely_ into the same space in his head, and finds it… troublingly easy to do. Galo dives headfirst into every problem from a stuck door to the end of the world; it makes a certain kind of sense that being alone would only make him friendlier.

It’s not like Lio didn’t know that the world is a deeply unfair place. But hell.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Galo asks, stepping close enough to brush against Lio’s knee. Lio shakes himself a little and scoots forward a half-inch on the counter, letting his knees fall a little further apart.

“Nothing you can’t distract me from,” he says.

“That doesn’t say much,” Galo says, “I can be really distracting.”

Lio raises his eyebrows. “Galo Thymos,” he says, mock-judgmental, and gets to watch a flush crawl up Galo’s throat at close range.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Galo protests. “I just — I meant —”

“Why not?” Lio asks, archly, and Galo beams and finally takes the invitation to step forward until his hips slot between Lio’s legs. Lio loops his arms over Galo’s shoulders and (for _once_ ) leans down to kiss him, enjoying the angle deeply. Galo’s mouth is familiar under his, but now, at last, they have time. Time for Lio to coax Galo’s lips open and to bite gently at Galo’s mouth, time for Galo’s hands to comb through Lio’s hair and drift up and down his back, mapping out spine and shoulderblade and rib. Galo is a perfect gentleman, neither roaming below Lio’s waist nor rucking his shirt up more than a couple of inches, and if that’s what he wants, well, they have time for that too. Lio tries to touch every warm beautiful inch of Galo’s back, and lets his knees brush Galo’s waist in a promise of what he can later do, and kisses him with content patience.

(Soon. Soon, if Galo’s willing, he wants to take Galo to bed. And, as he traces his fingers across the nape of Galo’s neck and feels Galo’s breath hitch against his mouth, he’s not too worried that Galo won’t be willing. But they’ve, for once, got all kinds of time.)

* * *

So, of course, the first time is kind of an accident.

It’s the last day of their enforced break, the midafternoon sunlight pouring through the windows to fill the whole room up with white. Lio has Galo sprawled out on the couch under him, and Lio is — maybe — being a little bit mean. Galo is way too fun to tease.

“Ah, ah,” Galo pants as Lio bites at his throat, little nips that run from the base of his jaw down to his chest and up again. Lio flicks his tongue against Galo’s pulse point and gets a faint, soft moan in reward. Lio hasn’t gotten him to scream just yet, but he’s gotten groans and sighs and whimpers, and it’s the most fun he’s maybe ever had.

“Enjoying yourself?” Lio asks, and bites down before Galo can answer, sucking with slow and steady patience. He’s left a faint scattering of pink and red and purple all over Galo’s throat and shoulders, these past few days. He’s not sure it’s yet occurred to Galo that he’s going to have to either wear a shirt or let all of Burning Rescue get a look at that particular view, and, frankly, the shirt might be equally incriminating. Maybe Galo can win a better medal.

In the meantime, Lio works Galo’s skin under his mouth and feels him squirm.

“Not fair,” Galo pants, when Lio finally lifts his head.

“What’s not fair about this?” Lio asks. “You have a mouth.” It’s a little bit of a hint.

“You don’t go all — melty.” Galo is beautifully flushed, eyes grown wide. He levers himself up onto one arm, though, stretching towards Lio’s throat, and Lio tilts his head back obligingly. He’s more than happy to let Galo try and even the score a little. Galo’s gentler than Lio, soft and kind, but his mouth is hot and eager, lighting up Lio’s skin. He kisses Lio sloppily under one ear, the underside of his jaw, a long lick up Lio’s windpipe that makes Lio gasp under his breath, and then finally Galo’s kissing his mouth, hungry again.

“See,” Galo says, flopping back. “Not melty.”

“Do I seem like I’m not enjoying myself?” Lio asks, meaning to tease more but honestly a little worried. He doesn’t have it in him to be unabashedly loud the same way Galo is, he doesn’t think; he’s not sure why, but it’s always been his instinct to muffle sound, even when there’s no need whatsoever to keep anything a secret.

“No, no, you — you, uh.” Galo’s already flushed, has been for a while, but he somehow manages to go an even deeper pink, wriggling under Lio’s weight. He breaks eye contact, down and then frantically back up to the ceiling, and — yeah, Lio’s hard as hell and not trying to hide it, but this is as close as Galo’s gotten to commenting on it.

“Oh?” Lio asks, smirking, and runs his hand down Galo’s chest. “I what?”

“You’re too hot,” Galo mumbles, “it’s not fair.”

“Really? The greatest firefighter in the world can’t stand the heat?” Lio asks, and feels the corners of his mouth curling up. It’s not his fault Galo is adorable. Adorable, and infectiously ridiculous, and Lio’s.

“Mmmph — shut up!” Galo says, and leans up to kiss him, which, as retorts go, is an approach Lio is happy for him to take more often. Lio relaxes into the kiss, curling one hand into Galo’s hair, and lets the other wander down Galo’s chest to pinch one nipple. Galo breaks out of the kiss with a gasp.

“That’s what I thought,” Lio murmurs, and slides down Galo’s body to get his mouth on Galo’s chest. Galo is a fucking miracle of musculature, a work of art in warm skin. Lio gets his mouth on Galo’s nipple and teases him with his tongue, and when Galo squirms this time, it grinds his cock up against Lio’s hip. Lio hums happily and works at him with the gentlest pressure of teeth that Lio can manage, and Galo rocks up against him again, panting.

“Good?” Lio murmurs.

“Uh-huh, yeah, really good,” Galo pants. “You’re the best, Lio.”

Lio smiles into his skin, warming in a way that’s only half to do with want, and moves across Galo’s chest. There’s skin there he hasn’t touched today, and he wants to find out how much noise he can get out of Galo like this. Every stroke of his tongue, every touch of his mouth makes Galo writhe, and it keeps bringing his cock up against Lio’s hip, his thigh, his stomach, as Lio moves from point to sensitive point. Lio luxuriates in it, in the taste, the touch, the sound.

So it’s a little bit of a surprise when he bites down on Galo’s throat again and when Galo’s cock rubs against his hip this time, he _bucks_ — jerks up again in another quick thrust and then arcs halfway off the couch, making a choked-off sound like he’s been electrocuted. Lio lifts his head, and even as he does, Galo’s collapsing flat against the couch cushions, every muscle gone slack. He’s gasping like he just ran a marathon, eyes closed and fluttering.

Lio’s not an idiot.

After another few breaths, Galo collects himself enough to open his eyes. “Ah. Hahaha… oops?” he tries, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his head. Lio wasn’t actually sure he was capable of looking sheepish.

“Did you just.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Galo protests, flailing at him. “I’m not used to this, and you’re really hot, okay? I’m sorry, it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Holy _shit,_ ” Lio says, palming at himself over his pants, because: holy shit. He forces his hand into stillness, and it’s just about physically painful, because Galo absolutely just came under him and that’s maybe the hottest thing that’s ever happened in his life. “I — can I —”

“I mean, that’s just fair, right?” Galo says, sitting up a little. “What do you want me to —”

“I want to come on your chest,” Lio blurts, and Galo’s eyes go wide.

“Yeah, yeah yeah _yeah,_ come on,” he says, scrabbling at Lio’s belt buckle. Lio wasn’t, apparently, anywhere near as badly off as Galo was, but it’s not like this did nothing to him, even before Galo _came in his pants_ with Lio’s mouth on him. Every brush of Galo’s hands lights up his spine. Finally, finally, finally he gets his cock free and jerks himself hard and fast, Galo’s hands still on his thighs and Galo still panting under him, chest heaving and flushed with the marks of Lio’s teeth all over his chest and hickeys all over his neck, fading and fresh, and he’s staring at Lio like Lio is the greatest thing Galo has ever seen in his life, and there, _there,_ Lio’s coming all over Galo’s stomach, spilling white over warm brown skin.

Lio slumps sideways, resting his cheek atop the back of the couch. Even holding himself up that much takes effort, but he has the one pair of pants; he really doesn’t want to ruin them. This wasn’t one of his more well-thought-out plans.

“You need a wider couch,” he says, which is maybe not the most romantic thing he could have said at this exact moment.

“Well, sorry!” Galo protests, laughing. “I wasn’t planning to — on the couch. I mean. I didn’t mean to — sorry.”

“Galo,” Lio says, and reaches down to run his thumb along Galo’s mouth. “Do I look like I’m angry?”

“No,” Galo admits, glancing down at his chest again. Something smug plays at the corner of his mouth. “I mean, though. I’m a gentleman! I meant to _ask,_ before I. You know. _”_

“Well,” Lio says, tracing the line of Galo’s cheek. “How about we get cleaned up —” Galo’s stomach chooses this moment to growl audibly. “—and eat lunch,” Lio continues, into the silence, “and then you can ask for whatever you want.”

He can actually feel Galo shiver, a little. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

* * *

Lunch is… surprisingly normal, after that. They make sandwiches — Galo has a mountain of roast beef, Lio tries hot sauce on sliced ham — and wolf them down around meandering conversation: what Lucia blew up yesterday, the history of private firefighting companies, the ice-cream place down on DeLancey, the time Gueira sat on a cactus, the endless towering mountains that Lio’s seen out west, what Rocky Mountain oysters really are, the hypocrisy of Galo’s shock. There’s no purpose to any of it; they’re only talking to make each other smile.

There’s a charge to it, though. Lio’s foot brushes against Galo’s under the table and Galo stutters over his words for a second, and Lio catches Galo staring: at his mouth, at his hands, at his tongue on a drip of hot sauce. And, all right, Lio’s staring too: at the marks he’s left on Galo’s throat, at the muscles in Galo’s arms as he reaches across the table for the pepper. (Galo has salt and pepper shakers, which surprised Lio exactly until he got a look at the things: they’re Dalmatians in fire hats.)

Finally Galo drops the plates into the sink, clanking, and turns to reach his hand out to Lio. Lio takes it, stifling a smile, and finds himself bodily pulled out of the chair and up.

“Hi,” Galo says, suddenly close.

“Hi,” Lio says.

“So, a bed is basically a bigger couch, right?” Galo says. “Because I have a bed.”

“I’ve noticed,” Lio says, and tugs gently. “Let’s go.”

The walk is strangely long, since this is not a big apartment, and yet in space of twenty feet and a doorway, Galo manages to look over at Lio half a dozen times in tiny giddy glances. He fumbles a little with the bedroom door, left-handed and clumsy, and Lio decides that this is getting stupid now. He braces himself on Galo’s shoulder and leans up to kiss him as filthily as he knows how. Galo’s mouth opens under his easily, and Lio walks him back to the bed, pushing gently. Galo sits with a _thump,_ mouth falling away from Lio’s, and Lio swings himself up to straddle Galo’s lap.

“So,” he says, and interrupts himself to kiss Galo again. “What do you want to do?”

“Mmm,” Galo says unhelpfully, kissing him again, and sinks down till he’s flat on his back, pulling Lio with him. Lio relaxes into the kiss, enjoying the warmth of him, but he does pull away after a second, because he wants an answer to his question. “I want to get you off this time,” Galo says. “Really, I mean, instead of just lying there.” He looks faintly annoyed with himself.

“You had a lot to do with that,” Lio says honestly, and Galo rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, I wanna do better,” he says, and runs his hand up Lio’s back, underneath his shirt. Lio arcs into the touch like a cat. “I know I can. I want to feel it happen.”

“All right,” Lio says, because he’s not stupid enough to argue with that. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he offers, since it seems to match what Galo’s after.

Galo flushes gorgeous and all-over, spreading halfway down his chest. “I — what — I mean — how am I supposed to know?” he sputters, half sitting up. “I don’t know what that feels like, I mean, how would I know if I like it or not!”

“Hm,” Lio says thoughtfully, shifting his seat across Galo’s thighs. “It feels good? Not much like anything else. Intense, and like — like it’s lighting up parts of your body you don’t normally notice.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how else to describe it. It doesn’t hurt,” he adds, in case Galo’s worried about that. “Not as long as you know what you’re doing.”

“I super don’t know what I’m doing though,” Galo points out. “I mean, I can handle pain, but I walk a lot of places.”

“As long as _one of us_ knows what we’re doing,” Lio corrects himself. “And I do.”

“You’ve done this a lot,” Galo says slowly, tilting his head back. “Um. Both, uh, both sides?”

“I have, yes,” Lio says, because it’s true. There’s been a lot more hands and mouths in his life than anything else, really — it’s just easier — but he’s been fucked plenty, and fucked a fair few people too. Enough to know how to be gentle.

“And other stuff?” Galo asks. His hands are tracing small circles on Lio’s hips, slow and getting slower.

“Yeah.” Lio frowns. “Is that a problem?”

“No!” Galo says quickly, hands tightening on Lio’s waist. “No, no, not a problem, just. Did you… have somebody? And something happened?”

“Oh — no,” Lio says, trying to stifle the wash of relief. “No, nothing like that. Just… different people, at different times. Not just men,” he adds, for honesty’s sake. “Less often since I took over, but not never.” He moves Galo’s ridiculous spikes of hair out of the way a little, tucking it behind his ear. “It helps to feel alive,” he says, feeling all the wrong kinds of stiff. He’s never talked about this much; he hasn’t avoided it, he’s just never had a reason to. “Sometimes I needed that.”

“Oh,” Galo says. “That sounds pretty sad.”

“Why?” Lio asks, a little nettled. “They made it easier to keep going when I needed it. I did the same for them. Even if we never saw each other again, we helped each other. What’s sad about that?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Galo protests. “I just meant — it doesn’t sound like you had much to be happy about. Which makes sense, I guess.” He settles his hands over Lio’s, lacing their fingers together, and meets Lio’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Lio swallows, hard, and leans down to kiss him again, this time slow and sweet and grateful. He holds tight to Galo’s hands.

“What about you?” he asks, when he sits up. He has no idea, honestly, and Galo’s earlier surprise clears up exactly nothing.

“Oh, nobody,” Galo says, shrugging. “I mean, besides you, obviously.”

“ _Really,_ ” Lio says, controlling his astonishment as tightly as he can. He doesn’t want to make Galo self-conscious twice in one day — the world might start ending again — but at the same time, do people in Promepolis not have _eyes?_

“I mean, I dated a couple of guys in high school?” Galo says. “Just guys for me. Nothing serious, though. And not, um, your kind of serious, either.”

“Why not?” Lio has to ask. Galo shrugs.

“Just never met the right person,” he says. “Which, you were out with the Burnish, so that checks out.”

“You incredible idiot,” Lio says, so softly he barely recognizes his own voice, and kisses Galo again. This man is going to be the death of him after all. No one could be expected to stand this.

“Incredible, huh? I’ll take it,” Galo says, and then snickers, close against Lio’s mouth. “Wait, hold on.” Lio tries his hardest not to snort, and fails completely.

“Oh — ah, wait, damn.” Galo pulls back a little, frowning. “You need stuff for that, though, right? If you were going to fuck me, I mean. I just have some hand lotion.”

“Shit.” Lio’s used some dubious lube in his time, but he doesn’t really want to inflict that on Galo, not when they do have better options. “Well, that’s that then.” He sighs, tangling his fingers in Galo’s hair again. “Is that something you’d want?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Another time.”

“I — maybe? Sometime? You made me curious now, this is on you,” Galo says, and nuzzles into his neck. “Not with the hand stuff for lube, though. Oh, _fuck_ , I don’t have condoms either.”

“Dr. Aviva did check my blood for everything you can imagine,” Lio offers. “I don’t have anything contagious, so if you haven’t, then. We might be all right. If… you want to.”

“Oh, yeah, okay, that’s totally fine then,” Galo says, kissing his cheek. “Wait, do you have anything not-contagious?”

“Iron deficiency, apparently,” Lio says, rolling his eyes, and is surprised when Galo jerks under him, not pleasantly.

“ _Dude,_ ” Galo says. “Why didn’t you tell me! I could buy spinach!”

“What?” Lio blinks. “Because we have bigger problems.”

“I need to _buy groceries_ anyway _,_ ” Galo says. “You need your blood, okay! You should take care of yourself!”

“Is this really what you want to be talking about right now?” Lio asks, and Galo sighs.

“Okay, fine,” he says. “I’m feeding you iron stuff later, though.”

“You don’t have to,” Lio says. “Really. I’m fine.”

“I definitely have to,” Galo says, setting his considerable jaw. “We can stop talking about this whenever you want, you know, just let me make hamburgers for dinner tomorrow.” He settles his hands on Lio’s hips again, tracing little circles over the bone. Which is cheating.

“Okay,” Lio says, sighing. “Hamburgers it is.” He kisses Galo again, long and slow and intent, until Galo’s thumbs are digging into his hips and he lifts his head to see Galo’s frown long since dissolved. He kisses Galo’s throat for good measure, looking for the pulse points, and works his hand between them to tweak Galo’s nipple again. Galo sighs, arcing into the touch, and then says with startling suddenness, “Nope.”

“No?” Lio asks, half sitting up.

“I mean, you _can,_ I just mean we’re not doing last time again.” Galo slides his hands up Lio’s ribs to his back and coaxes him back down, another long warm kiss.

“So what _do_ you want to do this time?” Lio asks, once he has the space to do it. “You haven’t said.”

“Mmm.” Galo bites his lip, considering, which makes Lio’s mouth go dry. “Is it okay if I blow you? I want to try.”

“Yes,” Lio says, after a moment in which he’s completely unable to speak. “Yes, that would be okay.” It comes out a little breathless, choked with want.

“Great!” Galo says. “Can you get on your back?”

“Sure.” Lio does, rolling sideways enough and managing to wriggle properly onto the mattress at the same time — there’s nothing sexy about hanging his feet off the end of the bed, thanks. Galo moves to kneel between Lio’s legs, easily nudging Lio’s legs wide enough to make it work; he doesn’t even do it like he’s thinking of anything but the easiest way to not squish either of them, but he moves Lio like he has no weight at all. It’s not like Lio’s fighting him, but still — impressive.

“C’mon, off,” Galo says, hiking Lio’s shirt higher up his ribs; Lio complies, laughing, as Galo attacks his belt again. “You have way too many buckles.”

“You’re the one who can’t pilot a mech that doesn’t match your style,” Lio says. “You don’t get to complain about my sense of fashion.”

“Okay but I want to touch your dick already,” Galo says, which is unfortunately a compelling argument.

“At least I’m not wearing my boots,” Lio points out, and realizes he was playing a subconscious hunch when Galo’s eyes go unfocused.

“I have some ideas now,” he says, and finally gets the buckle undone. “Aha! I win!”

“You are _ridiculous,_ ” Lio says, laughing, and lifts his hips to help Galo tug off his pants. It takes a little flailing, on both their parts.

“But you’re here anyway,” Galo says cheerfully, and kisses him.

“It’s cute,” Lio says, smiling. Galo sits back for a moment and just looks at him. Lio has a quickened heartbeat moment of feeling exposed, vulnerable, his cock jutting up between them. Galo’s still — well, half-naked, but as clothed as Galo ever gets, and it doesn’t so much bother him as he becomes abruptly aware: _you’re naked, he’s not, this could bother you. Does it?_ But then Galo bends his head to kiss Lio’s collarbone, reverent, and: no, it doesn’t bother Lio at all, actually. Galo’s seen him a thousand times more helpless, and all he did then was help.

Galo kisses his way down Lio’s chest, in a slapdash wandering way; he stops to kiss Lio’s bicep, moves back up to swipe his tongue on Lio’s throat, moves back down to skip Lio’s chest completely and dot kisses over his ribs instead, to nuzzle against Lio’s hip. His hair brushes Lio’s cock, and Lio gasps. And then Galo slides another six inches down the bed to kiss the inside of Lio’s knee.

“Are you procrastinating,” Lio chokes out. “If you’re nervous —” It’s about one-third a concern and two-thirds goad, and, infuriatingly, Galo just kisses the inside of his other knee, barely a half-inch higher.

“Nope,” Galo says, “I’m just easily distracted.”

“You’re the most single-minded person I’ve ever met,” Lio says.

“But we don’t have anywhere to be,” Galo says, and kisses Lio’s thigh. “And you’re the prettiest guy I’ve ever met, so there.”

“How are you real,” Lio mumbles, cheeks going traitorously warm. He’s been called pretty before, not always as a compliment, and he’s had far filthier things said to him in bed; this really shouldn’t be enough to make him blush. But Galo means it, transparently and completely.

“I just am,” Galo says, matter-of-factly, and lifts his head to kiss Lio’s right hand, first the knuckles and then the fingertips. And then, thoughtfully, the thin skin on the inside of Lio’s wrist, and Lio almost bites through his tongue. Since when did _that_ make his cock twitch?

“Mmm,” Galo says contemplatively, and licks along the veins. It’s shivery-sensitive and good, and unbearably sweet. He moves from there to Lio’s hip again, with a gentle scrape of teeth, and there again to Lio’s thigh, tracing patterns with his tongue.

“Galo,” Lio says. “Galo, _please._ ”

“Yeah? Is this not good?”

“If you don’t touch my cock I’m going to fucking die,” Lio grits out.

“Oh!” Galo says. “Okay.” And then he squirms a little against the bed and licks Lio’s cock from root to tip, and Lio sighs in shivering relief. Galo does it again, slower, then again, long exploratory swipes of the tongue. Flickering licks against the head of his cock that make Lio grip the sheets so he doesn’t push up into it. Long smooth tongue-strokes. He lowers his head to mouth tentatively at Lio’s balls, and Lio groans, spreading his legs a little wider to make it easier. Galo makes a soft noise of satisfaction, muffled by Lio’s skin.

“Good,” Lio murmurs. “Good.”

“Mmm,” Galo hums, leaning his head against Lio’s thigh for a moment. Then, contemplatively, he sits up and sucks the tip of Lio’s cock into his mouth. Lio gasps, tossing his head against the sheets. It’s been a long time, and Galo’s mouth is hot and wet and glorious and eager. Galo sucks at him sharply, audibly sloppy, and then starts trying to swallow him down, and Lio is just collecting enough breath to say, “Careful —” when Galo chokes.

“Agalalblagch!” he sputters, or something like it, and pulls off with a pop. Lio laughs, still breathlessly hot.

“Mind your gag reflex,” he says.

“Shut up!” Galo suggests, and sucks him down again, stubbornly just as far — which should be impossible, but if anyone could will their way through an involuntary reaction, it would be Galo Thymos. Also, Lio really actually might die. Galo bobs his head, sucking industriously, and starts to settle into a good rhythm, and this — this isn’t going to be all that slow after all, not after all that steady build. His entire body is singing like high-tension wire.

“Galo,” he pants, “Galo, I’m — if you don’t — your mouth —” There should be some other words there, but he doesn’t have breath for them. Evidently they were necessary, though, because Galo doesn’t react at all, just keeps working him over, steady and slow. “ _Galo,_ I’m going to —”

Galo seals his lips, if possible, even tighter around Lio’s cock, his eyes flicking up to meet Lio’s gaze as much as he can. He stares Lio down as much as the angle allows and sucks, _hard,_ and — okay, message received. “Fuck,” Lio pants, and gives himself up to it, clawing at the sheets as the feeling builds and builds and then spills over, and he comes in a shuddering rush in Galo’s mouth.

“Wow,” Galo says, pillowing his head on Lio’s thigh. Lio isn’t sure he remembers how to move, just yet. “I’ve decided I like giving head. A lot.”

“Lucky for me,” Lio says dizzily, reaching down to pet his hair. “Yeah, wow.”

“So I did good?” Galo asks, nuzzling into his hand.

“Definitely,” Lio says. “I’m surprised you need me to tell you.”

“I’m just checking!” Galo protests, and squirms against the bed a little. “I wanted to jerk off while I was doing it but I didn’t want to stop touching you and I wanted to pay attention to what I was doing but now I’m _really really hard_ and do I just, like, start? Or — what do I do?”

“You let me touch you,” Lio says. “Come up here.”

“Okay!” Galo says, bouncing up the bed. He’s helpfully unfastening his own pants, and Lio’s jaw drops a little. It’s not like he couldn’t _tell,_ pressed up against Galo at night, that Galo was frankly hung, but still. He’s long and thick and gorgeous, and the head of his cock is wet and shining.

“What?” Galo says, sounding a little bashful.

“You’re _huge,_ ” Lio says, and gets to watch Galo blush again.

“I mean,” he says. “Am I? I don’t — I mean —”

“You are,” Lio says, and wraps his hand around Galo’s cock, enjoying the heft of it. He could fit both hands on this if he wanted, easily. “Tell me you knew that.”

“I don’t, like, stare at people in the locker room!” Galo protests. “I — ohhh wow —” That’s because Lio’s thumb is teasing at his slit, coaxing out another bead of precome. “Mmm, that feels so nice, thank you, that’s so… ahhh…”

“You’re cute,” Lio whispers, curling onto his side so he can actually reach better. It brings them close together, curved onto the bed on their sides, and Galo leans his forehead against Lio’s and pants against his cheek. “You’re so sweet I don’t know what to do with you.”

“I — mmm — ah, not special —”

“I thought you were the greatest firefighter in the world,” Lio teases, smiling, sex-silly. It takes him like this sometimes, but not usually this easily. He feels drunk on it, blissed-out, like nothing in the world could be anything but sweetly funny.

“Yeah, but that’s — that’s different, that’s not — you’re talking about — ah, _ah,_ oh wow, that’s so good, I’m —” That’s from Lio squeezing right under his cockhead on the upstroke.

“Where’s that lotion?” Lio murmurs.

“Uh — nightstand drawer, under the alarm clock —” Lio pulls away long enough to grab for it, and Galo makes a soft and wounded noise, reaching for his shoulder. Lio laughs.

“Give me a second,” he says, squeezing a dollop of whatever-this-is into his palm, and wraps his hands around Galo again. It’s easier this time, and by the fluttering of Galo’s eyelids, the lotion helps. “Come on, give it up for me, Galo.”

“Whenever you want,” Galo pants. “I — oh, fuck, Lio, yes, please, yes please more please fuck _Lio_ please —”

“There we go,” Lio says, as come spills silkily over his fingers. “There we go, Galo, there you are.”

“Mmmmm.” Galo melts into the bed, somehow managing to flop facedown and sideways and on top of Lio all at once. “ _Favorite._ ”

“Good,” Lio says, surprised by the swell of sudden possessiveness. “Good.” Unfortunately, his hand is still covered in come and now trapped between their bodies. He tries to tug himself gently free, and Galo makes a brokenhearted noise without a single consonant in it. “Galo.”

“Am I yours?” Galo asks, around a jawsplitting yawn.

“Yes,” Lio says, giving up on practicalities for now to wrap his free arm around Galo’s waist and hug him tight. “Yes, you are. You’re mine.”

“Oh.” Galo squeezes closer, burrowing into Lio’s hair. “I meant your favorite, but I like that too. I like being yours.” It is rapidly becoming apparent that two orgasms in a day knocks Galo out like anesthetic.

“You’re my favorite too,” Lio promises. “Both things.”

“Yay!” Galo mumbles, slurring into his hair.

“You still have to let me wipe off my hand, though.”

“But I wanna cuddle you.”

“Cuddle me without jizz drying on my hand, it’s disgusting.”

“But you’re _warm._ ”

“Just let me —” Lio steels himself to ignore Galo’s whining and works his hand free, considers whether he has the heart to actually try and get out of this bed, gives up, and wipes his fingers off on the towel. “Okay. Good enough. You can cuddle me all you want.”

“Gonna take a while,” Galo mumbles, kissing his ear, and lets out a long slow breath. Lio expects him to be snoring within the minute.

The sunlight is still slanting through the blinds, lying warm on Lio’s skin. An afternoon nap doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all, especially not with Galo curled around him in a tangle of sheets and naked skin. Lio closes his eyes and lets himself fall into it without fear.

* * *

It’s a nice end to their three-day lull, and when the next morning’s alarm goes off, Lio’s response is an exasperated “Stop fucking beeping at me,” not the overwhelming loathing of his usual mornings. Galo laughs and rustles his hair as he and the blankets get out of bed, and Lio rolls his eyes and follows and is forced to admit that Ignis was right: they’re both better for the rest. It occurs to him, midway through coffee, that half of the drained feeling that he’d thought was the Promare’s absence might actually have been plain exhaustion, as ordinary as anything in the world.

They’re among the first pulling into the firehouse, arriving just as Ignis is unlocking the door — an unusual step, but apparently the building has actually been locked for the interlude. Eulalia’s there with him, her jacket slung over one shoulder; she greets them both with, “You two look brighter.”

“So do you,” Lio says, nodding to Ignis. “Do you have an agenda today?”

“I had some thoughts while we were gone,” she says. “Chief over there made it his mission to keep me from working —” this with a smile over Lio’s shoulder towards Ignis “— but I had a couple of ideas.” Galo catches Lio’s hand as they all file in, squeezes; Lio squeezes back, and gets a kiss on the cheek as they part ways. “I’m thinking we see if we can get what we’re doing here filed as a nonprofit, get something sustainable going — which might mean getting the two of us some kind of salary, Meis and Gueirra too, which would be nice.”

“Nothing high,” Lio says, throwing his coat over a chair. “I don’t feel good about taking anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you were gonna say,” she says. “Fotias. But we need to live too, both of us, and we’ll do more if we’re not living out of the firehouse bunk. Or your boyfriend’s place,” she adds, raising an eyebrow.

“I — I mean —” It would be smart to move out, maybe, but Lio doesn’t want to go. Maybe it’s too much, maybe he’s imposing — the thought lasts for about two seconds, before he remembers the snuffling distressed noises Galo makes if he gets up in the night for a drink of water, the way Galo wraps around him when he comes back to bed without ever waking up enough to remember any of it in the morning. He’s welcome. “Maybe I shouldn’t take one, then, if I’m staying with him.”

“Nope, wrong takeaway,” Eulalia says, rolling her eyes. “We can donate it again, later. Look at it this way, if _we_ take salaries, we can scrape up some more money and hire more Burnish, and then we can pay them. And if we try and pay everyone but you we’re violating labor laws, so don’t start.”

“All right,” he says. “And this’ll make it easier to do what we’re doing?”

“People like names,” she says. “People like organization. Right now we’re both a couple of people who other people know to ask if you need something. If we’re the Foundation for Something-or-Other…”

“What do we need to do?”

The grin Eulalia gives him is unfortunately familiar. Once it meant he’d accidentally volunteered to dig the newest latrine pit; now it means she’s about to hand him half her paperwork. Well, he’s the leader of Mad Burnish and he fears no paperwork. “All right,” he sighs, “send me the files.” And with that they’re off again, back in it, putting the world back together.

Burning Rescue is back on their ordinary shifts: day shifts, seven to seven, Sunday to Tuesday and alternating Wednesdays. Without quite discussing it, Lio and Eulalia fall into the same pattern for themselves, with work done by the handful and the scattered hour by tablet on the off-days. Lio sends emails off to dig through layers of bureaucracy and scrolls his hopeful way through endless passages of antidiscrimination law from Galo’s couch, feet hanging over the arm, tilting the tablet screen away from the bright long pour of sunlight. Galo fills out incident reports next to him and drags him bodily off the couch when he decides Lio’s working himself too hard. The Burnish are sheltered, in decent health, and fed; now on to employment, restitution payments, legal ID, social security numbers for those without them, visas for those who came to Promepolis from across a border but have nothing left waiting for them in any country but here, disability paperwork for those who need it after the Parnassus engine, or who simply need it anyhow. Past that, maybe, will be laws meant for the formerly-Burnish’s safety; right now they’re leaning on disability and medical history and anything else that anybody can make stick, or at least can say with enough authority that no one wants to test their threats in court.

Eulalia’s out of the firehouse at last, splitting an apartment with two adjunct professors and a middle-aged artist — Ignis had a friend who had a friend who had a sister, it seems. They’re quiet, according to her, and they leave her food be, and the room is warm with a sturdy lock that no one else has tested yet. It’s not far from Ignis’s block either, apparently; Lio gets used to seeing them arrive together in the mornings, coffee in hand and pastry bags piled on the seat between them. Eulalia’s picked up a travel mug from somewhere, painted the same silver-blue as her hair. Lio pauses, one morning, and taps a finger against the mug as it rests on the corner of her desk.

“My mother would have teased you about this, I think,” he says, looking down at the matching metal. “About your taste.”

She laughs. “She would’ve,” she says. “Luckily for me, you’re a nice young man, and would never do a thing like that.”

“Of course,” Lio agrees, so blandly that it impedes the paperwork for a good half-minute until she collects herself. It’s a tiny interlude in the day, but they have space for that now.

Dr. Aviva drops by occasionally to talk about baselines and complications to monitor, about building trust, about prosthesis tech and about charities who help people pay for it. He seems to have taken up the Burnish cause for his own, and his help hasn’t wavered yet, nor has he done any harm that Lio’s heard. After a few visits, Lio orders him to drop the Mr. Fotia — it’s gotten silly, by now.

“Oh, while I’m here,” he says, on one of those visits. “A friend of mine — ah, hell.” He glances around the impromptu office; Eulalia’s out at the moment, helping one of his people argue with a social worker in person until the foster system gives her kid back, but Meis is on the phone at the other table, and Galo and Gueirra are talking about something in the corner. Which Lio should possibly be concerned about, but only possibly. “I’m in front of a million people. Sorry, long day.”

“What’s wrong?” Lio asks, low and sharp, as the hair on the back of his neck rises up. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Galo go still. Dr. Aviva shakes his head.

“Nothing, just wasn’t thinking straight. Hippo. I’m used to thinking of you as a colleague of sorts instead of a patient, which is a whole ethical question in itself, but needs must.”

“What are you talking about,” Lio says. “ _Hippo?_ ”

“Hip-PAH,” Dr. Aviva says. “Sorry, right, it’s a law. Medical privacy.”

“Something wrong?” Galo asks, popping up over Dr. Aviva’s shoulder.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Lio says. Dr. Aviva sighs.

“I wanted to talk to Lio about something related to his health,” he says. “Which I realize sounds very vague, I apologize. I can’t do that in front of other people without your permission,” with a nod to Lio, “because of HIPAA, which is a law guaranteeing patients privacy about their medical information. Which I should have remembered, but I’m used to just bringing things up, and I really shouldn’t be treating you when we work together, but things happen in crisis scenarios.”

Lio blinks three times in rapid succession, and glances down at his own arms, at the wrists where cuffs and cannulae have both sat. Six months ago, he was running from people who wanted to pin him to an operating table and split him open, inspect his organs in his chest and — it turns out — burn his flesh away to power an engine. Now, apparently, his body belongs to him so thoroughly that even the observation of it is under his control.

“You have my permission,” he says warily. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing serious, it’s good news,” he says. “Have you gotten your teeth looked at yet? Because a friend of mine has an opening, she could sort that out for you next month, and she won’t charge you.”

“What’s with your teeth?” Galo asks, frowning.

“I’ve been hit in the face and it shows, I think,” Lio says, thinking back. “Why does it matter?”

“Ah,” Dr. Aviva says. “All right, I clearly needed to explain, but that isn’t what impacted means. I’m not a dentist myself, but it means your wisdom teeth — third molars —” he taps the back of his jaw, apparently to indicate something “— grew into your jaw at an angle. They’re very likely to get infections or cavities, and aren’t particularly useful anyhow, so most people get them removed while they’re teenagers.”

“Oh, yeah, I got mine out,” Galo says, nodding. “Getting it for free is good, though.”

“Indeed,” Dr. Aviva says, nodding. Lio wrinkles his nose.

“Don’t we have better things to worry about than whether my teeth might, someday, get infected _?”_ he asks.

“Not really, no,” Galo says, and shrugs when Lio glares at him. “I promised to keep you safe! What kind of person protects someone else, _except the teeth_?”

“Anything could happen between now and my teeth getting infected,” Lio says. “We’ll deal with that if it happens.”

“Infected teeth can get pretty nasty,” Dr. Aviva says, frowning at him. “If it happens, you’ll be a lot of pain waiting until someone can fit you in for surgery. And it can spread to the rest of the body, if it’s not treated.”

 _Surgery._ Lio gets a phantom whiff of antiseptic and industrial cleaner, fear-sweat and distant blood. His wrists ache. “It might not happen,” he says, firm. “I have enough to do right now.”

“Okay, hold on,” Galo says, dropping onto one of the spare chairs. “Why would you want to hurt a lot later when you could just stop it from happening now?”

“Oh, now you’re in favor of taking every possible precaution?” Lio asks, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, that’s different!” Galo says — well, squawks. Dr. Aviva scoots slightly back. “I go rushing in to _urgent situations._ If I get burned, I know I can take it, and I’d rather that happen then someone else gets hurt or dies because we were taking too long to come up with a plan. Save people first, ask questions later.”

This, unfortunately, is entirely accurate, and the kind of generous courage that Lio still can’t quite believe is real.

“And I can do that,” Galo continues, while Lio is failing to argue with that, “because I take good care of my equipment, and I keep my matoi with me, and I carry emergency supplies, and I make sure I’m in good shape for whatever happens. So you should take care of yourself too. What if there’s some big emergency and you can’t help because you have a tooth infection?”

“I helped you pilot a mech five minutes after I got half my limbs dissolved,” Lio snaps. “I can work through a tooth infection.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though!” Galo says, and grabs his wrist. It’s a strange, sudden reminder of their first days together, fighting it out in Aina’s flybug. Galo’s grip is gentle, this time, but it’s emphatic. “You could just take care of this now. You’re not going to burn out suddenly anymore.”

That — fuck. Lio blinks, and blinks again, and abruptly has to scrub his hand over his eyes. “Why couldn’t you be as stupid as you look,” he mumbles.

“Oh, I am,” Galo says cheerfully. “I’m just good at saving people. So you’re gonna do it, right?”

“Ugh.” Lio sighs and looks back to Dr. Aviva, who he would prefer hadn’t witnessed that, but — well. The whole world got a flash of the Galo de Lion, even if most of them didn’t know what they were seeing, what they were feeling. It’s not like there’s a secret, about this. “Thank you. Tell me how to get in contact with your friend.”

“Of course,” Dr. Aviva says. “And I’ll send you the info for that prosthetic organization I was talking about.” His voice is perfectly even, and Lio is deeply thankful for Kray Foresight’s consistently terrible character judgment. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

“I will,” Lio says, nodding, and Dr. Aviva heads out, pausing in the kitchen to talk to Lucia about something. Lio can hear a distant cackle and takes a moment to be grateful that whatever it is, it isn’t his job.

“Hey,” Galo says, leaning his forehead against Lio’s shoulder. “I want you to stick around for a long time, okay? So you gotta take good care of yourself.”

The moment is interrupted by a balled-up piece of paper bouncing off of Lio’s head. “Boss,” Gueirra says. “C’mon.”

“Do that again and you’ll live to regret it,” Lio warns, emptily. “Shove off, Galo.” He nudges Galo’s chair away, squeezing his knee. “I’m not going anywhere. I told you.”

“No PDA in the office!” Gueirra calls, although the next scrap of paper comes from Meis.

“Are you going to tell Cinder that?” Lio asks, and turns back to his actual work. Galo gets going, but he’s smiling as he does.

* * *

The Saturday after that is steadily, sopping-rainy in a way Lio isn’t used to — in a way maybe nobody is used to, these days. Galo, heroically — Lio will admit it — goes out anyway, to pick up bread and paper towels and the pumpkin seeds that have been mysteriously appearing around the house ever since the iron conversation. Lio settles in at the kitchen table with his tablet and a fresh-peeled orange — not for work, he promised Galo, but he needs to work on setting up his _own_ bank account, which is technically personal business and he still has all the tabs open because he’s been working on it for other people. The fruit is bright and lovely in his mouth, and he sucks the juice off his fingers and realizes suddenly that not only is _rain_ what counts as an obstacle to his supplies, now, he doesn’t even have to overcome it himself. And he didn’t even think about it. He opened the cabinet to make a sandwich, found half a heel of bread and a lot of crumbs, and groaned about having to go out.

He pops another wedge of orange into his mouth and shakes his head. What the hell.

He kind of hopes it never becomes _completely_ ordinary, that he always looks around occasionally and marvels at the luxury of safe walls to hold out the drumming rain, heat drifting from the vents and food he doesn’t need to measure. It seems important to appreciate it.

He’s in the middle of this contemplation and has most of his files uploaded when the door opens. “Hi!” Galo bellows, as is usual, and shakes himself like a wet dog. There’s… a lot of mud.

“Did you stop to fight a puddle on the way home?” Lio asks. “Or was it the puddle you needed to use to put out a fire?”

“You’re super funny,” Galo says, shedding the jacket he actually deigned to wear. “You know, maybe I should come over there and hug you! Since I like you so much and you’re so funny.”

“If you drip on me I’m going to make the first time I kicked your ass look like a gentle handshake,” Lio says.

“I’m sorry, what time you kicked my ass? You’re talking about the time I beat you _and_ Meis and Gueirra, or the time I pulled you across the city and dropped you in a lake?” Galo starts slinging groceries on the kitchen counter — the bags will need to be washed, but seem to have kept things relatively mud-free.

“Aina dropped us both in a lake, you were as surprised as I was,” Lio says. “Anyway, I meant the cave.”

“I — that doesn’t count! You snuck up behind me!”

“Guerrilla tactics.”

“ _Cheating._ ” Galo dumps the last few things out on the counter. “Oh, uh, speaking of my ass —” and while Lio is still processing that sentence, he tosses something across the room. Lio barely catches it.

It’s a tube of silicone lube, which, okay, that at least explains what the hell Galo is talking about. Lio stifles a laugh.

“Shut up, you made me curious!” Galo says. “This is your fault.”

“Subtle,” Lio says.

“Why would I want to be?” Galo asks. “Aren’t things complicated enough?”

“Fair,” Lio admits. “And refreshing,” he adds, a little more quietly. It doesn’t come naturally to him, the kind of praise that Galo hands out so easily, but — he wants to try. Galo deserves to hear it. Especially with the way it makes him smile.

“I looked up the right kind to get,” he says, rubbing at the back of his head. Lio smiles.

“Equipment maintenance again?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Galo says. “So, can we?” He’s still leaning on the counter, nothing remotely casual about it; his eyes are bright and his fingers are drumming against the drawers and he wants Lio, he chose him.

“Go take a shower first,” Lio says, because he has the freedom to be picky now, and also he just did laundry yesterday. “Um, a thorough one,” he adds meaningfully, and Galo nods.

“I’ll be quick!” he says. “But super thorough.” He’s practically buzzing as he books it for the bathroom, and Lio shakes his head, smiling.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. It’s been even longer since he did this on a bed he intended to sleep on later, so he takes the precaution of laying a towel out on top of the covers. And then there’s nothing to do but wait for Galo to get out of the shower, really, so after a moment’s thought he makes himself a sandwich. Which feels ridiculous, but he’s hungry, goddammit.

Still, he manages to be in the bedroom when the rushing sound of the shower stops. Galo appears a moment later, hair in damp fronds around his head, a towel slung around his waist, and a grin on his face like Lio is a glorious surprise and not someone he saw roughly ten minutes ago. “Hi!” he says, bouncing forward, and tackles Lio to the bed.

“Hi,” Lio says, laughing, and comes his fingers through the damp strands of Galo’s hair. “Hey.” He leans up to kiss him.

They fall into that, for a while; Lio licks stray drops of water off Galo’s skin and runs his hands over the clean damp warmth of him. The towel gets lost at some point, falling somewhere in the mess of the bed, so Lio takes the opportunity to get a handful of Galo’s ass and squeeze. Galo starts a little, and then rolls them both over with a decisive jerk, until Lio is sprawled across his chest.

“Okay,” Galo says, and ruins his determined expression by kissing Lio again. “Do you have the stuff?”

“I put it —” Lio leans over him to grab the tube off the nightstand. “You ready?” Galo’s well on his way to hard, right now, though not desperate for anything yet. Which is maybe a good thing.

“I want to start,” Galo says, setting his jaw like he does with every new task, every new project. “What do I need to do?”

“Let me get off your ribcage to start with,” Lio says, and shifts, nudging Galo’s knees apart until he can settle in between them. “Here.” _Spread your legs._ For whatever reason, the idea of saying it makes him blush, so he just sets his hands on Galo’s thighs and eases his legs open. “Just lie back and relax.”

“Okay.” Galo takes in a long, slow breath and exhales again, mouthing a count of five. Lio starts by wrapping his hand around Galo’s cock, giving him a few long strokes. Galo hums with pleasure, tilting his head back as Lio moves on from there, cupping his balls, stroking further back. He runs a finger over Galo’s hole, gentle and exploratory; the noise Galo makes isn’t quite like any Lio’s wrung out of him yet, but it sounds curious more than anything.

“Good?” Lio asks. Galo rolls his eyes.

“What, you think I’m going to give up?”

“If you don’t like it, tell me to stop,” Lio says, hand going still. “I don’t want to do anything to you that you don’t like. That matters.”

“Okay, okay,” Galo says, “but you touched me _once._ I’m not going to back out from that, I actually thought about this before I did it for once.”

Lio laughs. “I’m impressed,” he says, and pulls back to slather his fingers in lube. “Crook your knee up,” he says, and, when Galo does, reaches down to touch him again. Galo squeaks.

“ _Cold!”_

“Oh, sorry.” That’s… not usually an issue, and Lio wonders what subconscious work he used to do, how many things he warmed up with unearthly fire and never even realized he did it. He waits a moment, lets his new and natural heat do the job, and slides his hand once again between Galo’s legs. _Third time’s the charm._ And, in fact, Galo only sighs, knee shifting a little to make it easier as Lio traces slow circles over him and finally hooks the tip of his finger inside. Galo’s eyes go wide.

“Huh,” he says, softly.

“All right so far?” Lio asks.

“Kind of weird?” Galo rolls his head back and forth, biting his lip. “I don’t want you to stop or anything, just… huh. That’s new.”

“All right,” Lio says, and works his fingertip in another circle, still inside. Galo’s breath hitches, so Lio does it again, slowly working his finger in a little deeper every time. He’s always liked this, the tight grip of someone’s body around his fingers, the precision with which he can move and touch and make somebody react. And Galo is beautifully responsive. He’s actually quieter than usual, so far, more little hitches of breath with a hint of voice behind them, but there’s a _lot_ of that.A tiny sound for every twitch of Lio’s finger.

“Still good?” Lio asks.

“Uh-huh,” Galo says. “I mean, not hurting? I can’t… I can’t decide if I like it or not. I don’t _not_ like it.” He shifts his hips slighty, face screwed up in concentration. Which is the cutest thing Lio has maybe ever seen. “I want you to keep doing it so I can figure it out.”

“I can do that,” Lio says, and crooks his finger slowly, sliding back a little and in again. And then he finds the soft swollen spot he’s been looking for, and Galo makes a noise like he’s been punched.

“There we go,” Lio says, softly, and rubs slowly over what he’s found. Galo groans loud enough to echo, clawing at the sheets until at last Lio lets up.

“Holy fuck,” Galo pants. “Wow. Is — is it supposed to feel like that? Is that normal?”

“If it feels good, then yes.”

“Yeah,” Galo says. “ _Yeah_ it feels good — ahhh!” That’s Lio rubbing at him again, smirking. “Smug,” Galo pants, tilting his head back. “Wow, okay, yeah, this was a good idea.”

“Do you want to try another finger?”

“Sure, go ahead, yeah.” Galo grabs at Lio’s free hand, holding on; Lio smiles, tugging away.

“I’m going to add some lube, hold on,” he says, and does. Galo grabs for his dry hand again as soon as he’s done, because he’s just… entirely unreal. “I’ve got you,” Lio promises, lacing their fingers together. “I’ve got you, Galo.”

“I know,” Galo says, and groans again as Lio twists two fingers into him, faster this time. “Oh, wow.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” Galo pants. “No, it, it, it feels like more?”

“Two is usually more than one,” Lio says, smiling, and pushes a little deeper.

“Shut up!” Galo swats at him; he seems to be having a little trouble controlling his limbs, so it’s not exactly threatening. “I meant it feels better this time. Not just weird. Oh _fuck._ ” That’s from Lio spreading his fingers apart, just a little. “Yeah, yeah, that feels good.”

“Good,” Lio says, and does it again. Galo’s hips shift up in tiny twitches, pushing into him. “You’re beautiful like this, Galo. So good.”

“Th-thanks,” Galo pants, and then, “ _Mmm._ Oh, please, keep… keep doing that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m going to,” Lio says. And he does, in and out, curving his fingers, scissoring them at slow intervals, pressing gently at Galo’s prostate to make him gasp. Galo’s cock is brilliantly flushed, now, bobbing against his stomach and shining-wet at the tip. Lio is so turned on his whole body is thrumming with it, through pain to someplace where the throbbing ache in his cock is as much a part of him as breathing.

“I’m giving you another finger,” Lio says, pulling back, but Galo shakes his head. “No?”

“Want your cock,” Galo pants. “I want you, Lio, please, I want to feel you.”

“Fuck.” It’s actually dizzying; Lio has to blink to clear his head. “You’re still so tight, maybe I should…” Galo clenches around him, apparently totally involuntarily. Lio will have to remember that, see what he can do for dirty talk later. Right now — right now he wants to bury himself in Galo _yesterday,_ but he also desperately wants this to be good, wants this to be everything Galo deserves.

“I — I feel like I’m gonna come like this,” Galo says, “or maybe just die, and I want, I want you to fuck me before I do, I want to know what that feels like. Please.”

Lio closes his eyes, dragging a shaky breath into his lungs. Galo’s earnest honesty is overwhelming when he’s talking about firefighting or his favorite restaurants or how much he likes Lio’s hair. Galo asking for his cock with all that sweet sincerity? Saying he might come on Lio’s fingers as comfortably as he might say _it’s raining out?_ It’s a lot.

“Okay,” he says, and fumbles for his belt. “Okay.” He’s still _completely dressed_ , which is absurd; he sheds his clothes as fast as he ever has in his life, flinging things in every direction at once. Getting his cock free of his pants is enough of a relief to make him gasp, but he’s hardly going to savor it, busy stripping down to the skin.

He sits back on his heels and surveys Galo, who is flushed and panting. “Turn over,” he says. Galo blinks.

“I — okay?”

“Does that bother you?” Lio asks. “I think it’ll work better.” Galo’s physical gifts are many, but he’s not the most flexible person Lio has ever met, and he looks barely in control of his limbs right now. Galo bites his lip, thinking it over.

“No,” he decides. “No, it’s okay, I trust you. Just —” He hooks his hand around the nape of Lio’s neck and pulls him down for a long slow kiss, affectionate and warm. “Okay, I’m good.”

“You,” Lio murmurs into his mouth, “you —” There aren’t words for it.

“Idiot?” Galo suggests happily.

“Hopeless romantic,” Lio says, cupping his cheek. “Go on, turn over.”

“Okay,” Galo says, and does, bracing himself on knees and elbows. “Like this?” He looks back to Lio, light from the window falling soft across his face, his hair still soft damp strands across his cheek. Lio loses the ability to speak for a moment.

“Yes,” he says, running his hand up and down Galo’s back. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

“Okay.” Galo shivers under his touch. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Impatient,” Lio murmurs, stroking him again. He runs a finger over Galo’s hole again, making sure he hasn’t tensed up again — a little, not too much. Galo sighs under the touch. Lio somehow manages to stop touching him long enough to get a generous dollop of lube in his palm, and groans involuntarily as he slicks up his cock.

“Just breathe,” Lio says, and braces his dry hand against Galo’s hip as he lines himself up.

“I’m breath — oh fuck,” Galo gasps, and his back arches as Lio eases the head of his cock inside him. “Oh _fuck._ ”

“Still good?”

“It hurts a little but I care way way more about you not stopping than I care about that _please keep going_ ,” Galo begs, “please keep going, I can take it, I want you to, please don’t stop.”

“I’m not — not going anywhere,” Lio promises, stroking his thumb soothingly over Galo’s hip. “I’m not stopping, I’m, I’m right here.” His voice is hoarse in his own ears, breathy. “I won’t stop until you want me to.”

“Then _hurry up,_ ” Galo says, and Lio sinks into him and groans as Galo sways forward, sways back into him.

“Yeah,” Galo is whispering, “yeah, yeah, there, yeah, I can — you feel —”

“You’re perfect,” Lio breathes, and pulls back just to bury himself again, doing his best to press against the right spot as he pushes back in. Galo cries out, collapsing forward until he’s braced on his forearms, and Lio rocks into him and into him and into him until Galo’s words dissolve into soft _ah, ah_ sounds. “You’re — oh God —” Lio’s rapidly losing the ability to form words himself.

Galo groans suddenly, back arching; he scrabbles at the sheets. Lio tries to repeat the grind of his hips exactly, holding his breath, and Galo groans again, again until — “ _Ahhh,_ ” he cries out, shuddering, clenching tight around Lio’s cock. Lio’s eyes roll back in his head, it’s so good, and he holds tight to Galo’s hips and works him through it.

Galo slumps down boneless afterward, face pressed into the mattress. There’s beads of sweat at the nape of his neck, and Lio leans down to lick them up. It shifts his cock where he’s still buried in Galo, and they both make choked-off sounds. Fuck, Lio’s _so close,_ but he doesn’t want to hurt Galo.

“I’ll just —” He starts to pull out, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, and Galo’s head snaps up.

“Nope,” he pants, and shoves back against Lio’s hips, groaning. “You promised.”

“I —” He did promise not to stop. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Galo sounds raw, outright hoarse. “I want you to.”

“ _Fuck,”_ Lio hisses, and fucks into Galo frantically, as deep as he can, not thinking anymore about pace or angle or anything but how good it feels, how tight and hot and close Galo feels around him. Galo rolls his hips back against Lio, making soft under-his-breath humming sounds again, and Lio sinks his fingers into Galo’s hips and whites out completely.

He doesn’t actually remember collapsing onto Galo’s back, or how Galo ended up flat on his stomach, but here they are. The two probably had something to do with each other. He nuzzles wearily against Galo’s cheek.

“I have the best ideas,” Galo mumbles.

“I’m pretty sure I had this one,” Lio says, and kisses his throat under his ear. Galo must be exhausted; it only makes him shiver a little.

“Nope, totally mine,” Galo says. And then, after another moment, “Wait, you put a towel down and I’m still in the wet spot, why is that happening?”

“Because you haven’t moved out of it,” Lio says.

“That’s because you’re lying on me!”

“Mmmmph.” As this is manifestly true, Lio rolls sideways off of Galo. “Come here.”

“Mm.” Galo starts to roll over and stops, stifling a tiny startled gasp. Lio levers himself up on one elbow.

“Are you sore?”

“A… little?” Galo says. “Nothing actually really hurts but I don’t know what else to call it.” He finishes rolling over and glances down the bed, eyes going wide. “Oh, wow.” Lio cranes his head. There’s come dripping down Galo’s thighs in streaks, bright and obscene.

“Wow,” Lio agrees, brain shorting momentarily out. Once thought returns, he tugs at the corner of the towel until it’s still underneath the both of them. It’s an opportunity to wipe off his hand, too; he’s just got it clean before Galo tugs him into the crook of his arm. “So…” _Was that good?_ is the question he wants to ask, lingering on his tongue, but it feels absurd. Galo’s never shy about his appreciation. “Was it what you expected?”

“I wasn’t really expecting anything except something new, so, yeah, I guess so,” Galo says philosophically. “You’re right, it totally doesn’t feel like anything else. Felt awesome, though.” He pets idly at Lio’s shoulder, and Lio’s starting to figure that’s it for postcoital commentary, when Galo says, much more quietly than Galo usually says anything, “I felt kind of helpless? Like all I could do was lie there and let you make me feel… however you wanted me to feel.”

“Oh.” Lio frowns. “Maybe we should try it with you riding me, if you want to do this again. That might be better.”

Galo grabs a pillow and pulls it over his head, leaving only a few spikes of hair sticking out around the edges. “Mreafaerart!!” he says into it.

“Galo.” Lio levers up one edge of the pillow until he has a relatively unobstructed line to Galo’s mouth. “Try again.”

“I liked that part,” Galo says, face a luminescent red. Which might be from breathing into a pillow, to be fair, but he was only under a couple of seconds. “The, uh, the helpless part. I liked it a lot.”

“Huh.” Lio shoves the pillow further out of the way; Galo lets him, apparently no longer needing it. “You’re blushing,” he observes, running his thumb along Galo’s cheek.”

“Shut up, _you’re_ blushing!” Lio’s fairly sure he isn’t, in fact, but he’s not sure this will be a useful argument. “It’s embarrassing, you know?”

“I don’t,” Lio says in perfect honesty. He’s never in his life wanted to feel helpless, but people want a lot of odd things, especially in bed. He slept with someone who liked having her ears bitten more than anywhere else that he could put his mouth, once. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think about it.” Galo scratches his head, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I always pictured myself like… doing stuff for people? Making other people feel good? And I like blowing you and stuff, I really do, but I liked… feeling like I could just lie there and enjoy it and I wasn’t being selfish because I couldn’t do anything else. And like if I _couldn’t_ do anything, then that meant there wasn’t anything else that I _should_ be doing, so I didn’t worry about that.”

“Huh.” Lio settles his head against Galo’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have thought that was something you worried about. In general.” He tucks his hand over Galo’s, just in case that sounded like a criticism.

“Well, usually I don’t!” Galo protests. “There’s things I know how to do because I’ve practiced, and there’s things where it’s obvious what needs to happen even if people don’t want to do it, and things where I know I can get it done if I keep at it, which I always do, and things where nothing I can do can make it worse than what’ll happen if I do nothing, and things where even if I _do_ do it wrong and get burned I know I can handle it. Not always _burned_ burned,” he clarifies, although Lio had figured. “And when you put all of that together, that’s most things. So I don’t usually have anything to worry about.”

“Huh.” Lio traces his thumb over Galo’s knuckles, thinking. Mostly he’s thinking that a hundred thousand people could live Galo’s life and not one of them would turn out anything like him. And that — well, that five minutes of conversation with Galo will tell you that the conclusions he draws from the situation are not the things that a normal person would conclude. But more and more Lio is starting to think that the world could use a few more Galos in it.

“Well,” he says. “Maybe if you ever want to try it the other way around, I’ll ride you. And hold you down.”

“Oh yup,” Galo says. “Gonna like it.” He nuzzles Lio’s hair. Lio tightens his grip on Galo’s hand.

“You know…” he begins, carefully. “The worst thing that can happen here is that one of us elbows the other in the ribs. I think we can both handle that just fine.” He reaches to pull the blankets up over them and goes very, very still as his hand encounters a cold and slippery patch of sheets. He turns his head with a sense of deep foreboding. “Or,” he says, very evenly, “we forget to close the cap on the lube.”

“That’s pretty bad,” Galo says, glancing over. It could be a lot worse, but it’s not great — there’s a shining trail across the comforter where the nearly-full bottle apparently bounced over the blankets, slopping lube out with every bounce. Laundry is fairly unavoidable. “Can we deal with it later?”

“Let me cap it first,” Lio says, digging himself out of the slight gravitational hollow that Galo creates in the bed enough to do so. “Well, the towel didn’t work.”

“You’ll remember next time,” Galo soothes, petting vaguely at his arm. “It was a good idea!”

“Mmm.” Lio allows himself to be soothed, settling back against Galo’s side.

“Anyway,” Galo says, “I wasn’t _worried._ You asked me so I thought about it, that’s all.”

“That’s fair.” Lio yawns. “We can’t lie here much longer, I’ll fall asleep.” He pauses. “So will you.”

“A little more, though.” Galo wrinkles his nose. “I’m gonna have to shower again, huh.”

“That’s the downside to this,” Lio says, yawning again. “I need to rinse off too. Shower together?” Not for another round, since Galo _will_ fall asleep, possibly before Lio gets him out of the shower, but they’ve done this a couple of times before. Galo usually takes it upon himself to wash Lio’s hair, which is completely unnecessary but feels incredibly nice.

“ _Yeah,_ ” Galo says, and makes no move to get up until Lio sits up and drags at him. “Okay, okay, I’m coming, I need that arm!” Lio laughs, and pulls Galo up.

“Come on,” he says, and kisses him again, just because.

* * *

Of course, the next week is a nightmare.

Lio has to deal with two bigots, four idiots — not the admirable kind — and seven uselessly hamstrung bureaucrats by the end of Monday. Meis gets a parking ticket, which reveals some kind of problem with his motorcycle registration that’s probably related to how he didn’t legally exist this time last year. And he still has to pay the parking ticket. Dr. Aviva’s dentist friend emails Lio to say she can cut his teeth out of his jaw in two weeks, which is allegedly good news but doesn’t remotely feel like it. Eulalia spills coffee over a letter outline she’d spent two hours working out on paper. On the Burning Rescue side, there’s half a dozen false alarms that are eventually determined to be a faulty alarm system, on top of one barbecue with very bad cooking and copious smoke but perfectly adequate fire safety, an incoherent 911 call that turns out to be a panic attack, and a system crash that eats two days of incident reports somehow.

And then, to cap the whole thing off, Wednesday has a fire called in from the Burnish blocks.

Aina sticks her head in to tell them and flips them her personal keys with a terse, “Don’t mess up the gears!” and they follow the truck as close as their lack of sirens will allow. Dread churns in Lio’s stomach the whole way there; Eulalia’s jaw is tightly clenched. Meis’s fingers drum on the steering wheel. (Lio’s not sure when he got a license, or for that matter sure that he has one, but he caught the keys and Lio isn’t sure in his ability to handle the car. He always preferred motorcycles.)

By the time they arrive, smoke heavy in the air, everyone is milling around. Aina’s flybug hovers, empty now, which might or might not be a good sign, but the truck is quiet, most of the mechs undeployed. Galo’s hair bobs above the crowd; he catches sight of them and jogs over, waving.

“All good,” he says, as soon as he’s in earshot. “Out already. Someone dropped a cigarette butt near a dry bush, caught up and singed a trailer. Happens all the time because _no one listens to fire safety rules._ ”

“You’ve said,” Lio says, and exhales. “You’re sure that’s all it was?” It’s not unlikely; a lot of the Burnish smoke. It’s an easy outlet for the fire, enough to take the edge off, and it’s hard to worry about cancer when lasting long enough to get it would make you one of the lucky ones. Lio only didn’t because he didn’t want to need it.

“Positive,” Galo says. “There were a billion cigarette butts nearby and the bush definitely caught fire first. So even if it wasn’t the cigarette butts, it wasn’t arson, because no one would set fire to a bush first and — you guys probably know how arson works.”

“Thank you for that,” Lio says.

“You’re welcome,” Galo chirps, because he’s unendurable. “Anyway, not a hate crime, unless someone really hated that bush.”

“Not a protected class,” Eulalia says, scanning the crowds. Lio follows her gaze; there’s a loose queue of people, and a flurry of activity at the base of the truck. “What’s going on over there?”

“There’s a lot of injuries for a fire this small,” Galo says. “Like, a _lot._ Nothing serious, looks like mostly first-degree and all treatable on-site so far, but we had to get a line going to check people over.”

“Yeah,” Lio says grimly. At the back of the line is Lyra Nyx, who he once watched dig barbed wire out of her calf with a dull pocketknife, bind the wounds shut, and walk five miles on the stump while she waited for the fire to stitch her flesh back into place. She’s clutching her forearm, staring in wide-eyed green-tinged horror at the bright pink weal across her skin. He crosses the fields to her. “Lyra. Stay with me.”

Her eyes snap up. “Yessir, boss.” Her shoulders straighten, settle. He took her into combat, back in the wild days; he’s relieved but not surprised to see his voice cuts through her panic.

“Let me have a look.” He takes her arm, eases it away from where she’s clutching it close to her stomach. “It’ll heal. Kray Foresight couldn’t kill you; you’re going to be just fine.”

“Thanks, boss.” She nods, takes a deep and shaking breath. Galo appears over his shoulder, bag in hand.

“Lemme have a look?” he asks, and cranes his neck. “Oh, yeah, for sure! Let me just put some stuff on it, put a bandage on there so you’re not knocking it into things. You’ll be fine in a couple weeks max, it won’t even scar. Which is kind of a bummer, actually, I like my scars.”

“You do, huh,” she says, tilting her head.

“Yeah, they look cool. They’re like a tattoo that doesn’t need needles.” He takes her hand, tugging her back until he can prop his medical kit on the bumper of the truck. Lio follows. “Okay, this is just gonna feel cold…”

She pulls her arm back. “You said put stuff on it. What kind of stuff?”

“Aloe vera with lidocaine,” Galo says promptly. “All it’s going to do is make it hurt less. Your body’s going to fix this just fine on its own as long as it doesn’t get infected. Keep it clean, talk to Dr. Aviva if it starts oozing or hurts worse, don’t worry if it starts to peel because that’s good. Itching is a good sign but really annoying. You can put a bandage over it if you’re too tempted to scratch but you can also just put on long sleeves.”

“Okay.” She holds still and lets him smear green goo over her arm, and indeed stick a square of gauze over the patch. Lio watches, feeling useless and knotted-up and tired. “Thanks, fireman. Thanks, boss.”

“No scratching that,” Lio says, for the sake of something to say, and waves her off with a small approving smile. She smiles back, sure and warm; at least he _is_ reassuring, still, no matter how hollow it feels. Lio glances back to Galo.

“They forgot it could burn them,” he says. He’s clutching his own forearm, over the same place where Lyra’s burn marked their new vulnerability on her skin. “That’s why there’s so many hurt.”

“A bunch of them went in to grab stuff out of the trailer too,” Galo says. He jerks his chin; just past the truck Lio can see the edge of an impressive heap. Clothes, bedding, some dishes, something that looks like the legs of a chair buried in all the rest of the fabric. “That’s fire safety 101: don’t do that.”

“Not when fire is what keeps you safe,” Lio says.

“We’ve got to teach you all fire safety for normal people,” Galo says. “I do fire safety demonstrations all the time, ‘cause I’m still technically the rookie, but — this seems weird.”

“Yeah,” Lio says, exhaling. “Eulalia and I’ll work on it.”

“Good,” Galo says, nodding sharply, and turns. “Hey, anyone else burned, I can patch you up! Hey, you, kiddo, come let me have a look at that, huh?”

Lio steps out of the way as the line starts forming a fourth tributary, reaching out for Galo. Lio moves through the crowd, checking in, offering little kindnesses and listening carefully. People seem subdued, many unsettled, more than a few in the same sickened shock as Lyra was. They look betrayed, either by the fire or their own flesh.

Eulalia finds him as he circles back to the truck. “We should start getting people in touch with insurance,” she says, grimly. “I can get online, start fundraising to replace the trailer —”

“No you won’t,” Galo calls from the truck’s bumper, winding another bandage closed. “I mean, you won’t have to, it’s fine. Fundraise for a new door, maybe. Everything else is just singeing and smoke damage. No houses burning down on my watch!”

“Oh,” Lio says, rattled and relieved at once. “That’s good.”

Burning Rescue works through the burned Burnish pretty quickly, all told. Lio talks to another few people, saying nothing that matters nearly as much as the fact that he’s here and saying it, and the tension fades as the bandages go out. Lio is proud of his people, though their courage worked against them; for this many to be burned, they had to go running towards the fire, go running towards the trailer to save what the family scraped up to own.

“We’re heading out,” Galo says, appearing at his side. “All clear here.”

“Got it,” Lio says, and glances at the first-aid kit in Galo’s hand. “You’re good at that.”

“Of course I am, it’s part of the job,” Galo says, and slumps back against the nearest trailer. “This week, huh?”

“This _week,”_ Lio agrees, leaning back too. The metal is cool even through his jacket. Fall coming in, and winter on the horizon, and it will be an inconvenience to his people, not a danger.

“Hey,” Galo says. “You wanna go on a date this weekend?”

Lio jerks. “Are we not —”

“We are!” Galo says, throwing up his hands. “No, no, no, we totally are, unless you don’t want to be for some reason. We totally are. I just meant… we kind of skipped the actual dates part. You know, it was so busy and all. It could be fun?”

“Huh.” Lio has only the vaguest idea what a date is supposed to involve, in the sense that Galo probably means it. Some of it’s how little time he’s had in his life, but it’s more that the options the Burnish had were slow walks past the edge of camp, hiking up the edge of the volcano, eating the evening meal in a private patch of shade. Not much else. “What did you have in mind?”

“I dunno, I didn’t get that far,” Galo says, shrugging. “There’s movies, I guess? Oh, or the fair is still going on the east side, that’d be great! I haven’t gone in forever. There’s a ferris wheel and cotton candy and games and stuff.”

“Games and stuff are hard to resist,” Lio deadpans. “All right, let’s do it.”

“Awesome!” Galo beams and kisses him. “I gotta stop slacking, but see you later. Let’s do Friday so you can rest tomorrow.”

“I don’t need —” Lio starts, but Galo’s already jogging off towards the truck, waving over his shoulder. And, annoyingly, it _would_ be nice to stay in. Galo knows him too well already. And truth be told, he’s curious about the fair.

* * *

The fair is a cascade of color and light. Lio can hear it from halfway down the block, even over the motorcycle engine: tinny organ music, a valiantly competing guitar, shrieking laughter, whirring engines, the endless babble of a cheerful crowd. It looks like a forest of awnings and snapping pennant-flags, with the great curve of the Ferris wheel crowning it all, a silhouette against the mountains. And the wind brings a smell of cigarette smoke and sugar, frying-fat and engine grease, and a faint soothing whiff of charcoal smoke.

Lio likes it immediately.

“I have one request,” Lio says, sliding off the motorcycle. (Finding parking was a task and a half.)

“Sure!” Galo says. “Whatever you want.” Lio grins, trap sprung.

“You let me pay.”

Galo’s jaw drops in astonished betrayal. “I — but — you — _hey!_ ”

“You promised,” Lio says. “Also, I have a salary and you still haven’t let me start paying rent.”

“Eulalia said it’s going to be _illegal_ to make as little money as you do as soon as some of Kray’s ordinances get repealed,” Galo says.

“You could at least let me start paying for groceries.”

“I’m the one who can drive to get groceries, though!” Galo protests.

“Fine, the electric bill then. Anyway, you agreed already, I’m paying today.”

“I — okay — _fine,_ ” Galo says, scowling. “To today, I mean. Can’t it be my contribution to the Burnish cause?”

“You used that argument already,” Lio says, setting off towards the gate. “At some point it does turn into being your charity case.”

“I like giving you stuff,” Galo complains. Lio has a horrible, horrible vision of the future which involves Lucia Fex uttering the phrase _sugar daddy._

“Partnerships are supposed to be give and take,” Lio points out, weaving around someone’s battered Shevvy. Galo follows behind him, the space between cars too close to walk side-by-side.

“You give lots of stuff!”

“And you don’t take anything,” Lio says. Galo makes indignant sputtering noises for a bit, followed by a long sigh, and finally says, “Okay, fine. If it’s really important to you, I guess.”

“The electric bill?”

“But you have to stop if you actually need the money for anything, okay? It’s not like it takes more _lights_ with two people around.” This is getting back to the grocery point, but Lio can be gracious in victory.

“I’ll let you know,” he promises as they squeeze into the open space of the lot. The fairground entrance is a soaring arch painted yellow and red and blue, with prices emblazoned on the ticket booth to one side. Lio squints at it for a while and eventually buys two wristbands, which will apparently let them ride anything they like. It’s unlikely to compare to either a mech or a dragon, but then, maybe that’s not the point.

“So what do you want to do?” he asks.

“Everything!” Galo says. “Definitely the rides, lots of food, maybe go look at the pigs and the rabbits?”

“The what,” Lio says. “ _Rabbits?_ ”

“Yeah! Some of them are huge, it’s great.”

“How big does a rabbit get?”

“Okay so rabbits first,” Galo says, craning his neck. “Look, there’s the shed. Wait, food first, I want a pretzel on a stick.”

“Why on a stick?” Lio asks, letting himself be pulled towards a cart with a neon pretzel hanging from the side.

“I dunno, it’s just on a stick,” Galo says. “A lot of the food is. You want one? The chewy salt-and-pepper ones are really good.”

“Sure,” Lio says, and neatly hipchecks Galo out of the way in order to get to the register first. “Two salt-and-pepper pretzels on sticks, apparently.” He glances over his shoulder. “Unless you wanted something else?”

“Nah, that’s great,” Galo says, and then, once Lio’s handed over the cash, “The _whole_ day?”

Lio’s lips twitch. “Eat your pretzel,” he says, and takes a wary bite of his own. It’s good, soft and salty with a pleasantly sour tang under the pepper, though he’s still not sure of the function of the stick. Style, presumably, but not a kind of style he’d ever choose.

“Fine,” Galo says, and shoves half of his pretzel in his mouth at once. It’s an impressive feat, and not even in a way that gives Lio ideas, given the amount of tearing involved. “Orrhay,” he says through it, and gestures towards a long brown building with the surviving bits of pretzel. Lio laughs and follows, nibbling like a reasonable person. And then he walks through the door of the shed and comes to a screeching halt.

“Galo,” he says. “You’re telling me this is a rabbit.”

“Yeah?”

“Because it looks like a pillow Aina would have,” Lio says, eying the massive sphere of fur warily.

“It’s got ears, see?” Galo points. If Lio squints, he can in fact see something in the fur that might be ears.

“Hey, could you stand _anywhere else,_ ” someone says, and Lio rolls his eyes and steps out of the way, moving closer to the cage.

“How does it see anything?” he asks.

“I dunno, you see through your hair,” Galo says. Lio instinctively checks his bangs, which, okay, are getting kind of long.

“It is not _that_ bad.”

“It’s not bad at all, it looks cute,” Galo says.

“You are the only person who gets to call me cute and live,” Lio says conversationally.

“Pretty sure that isn’t true,” Galo says.

“It’s true.”

“Aina said your hair looked cute the other day.”

“Then she has to die.”

“What happened to not killing without reason?”

“That counts as a good reason.”

Galo bursts out laughing, and so does Lio, not able to keep the joke going anymore. When did this become something to laugh about? He’s not sure, but he’s not going to question it either. Then another cage down the line catches his eye, and he cranes his neck to look. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Galo asks, and then, “Oh, sweet! I told you they get big.”

“You didn’t say that big,” Lio says, heading for the cage. The rabbit is the size of a respectable dog; the ear it flicks his way looks almost a foot long. “I think it’s bigger than Lucia.”

“Probably,” Galo agrees. “The first time I came here they were bigger than I were.”

“Were you scared of them?” Lio asks.

“I was five!” Galo squawks. “That doesn’t count!”

“Noted,” Lio says as innocently as he can, and gets his shoulder shoved for his troubles. He shoves Galo back, more of a nudge than anything else. “Was that before…”

“It was when my parents were alive, yeah,” Galo says, shrugging one shoulder. “One of the foster families brought us all out here too, and then when I was a teenager I’d come on my own sometimes and wander around. It was fun.”

Lio glances out at the milling crowd, considers how many of the people walking past are in twos and threes and bigger groups: whole families, teenagers in sidewalk-blocking clumps. This isn’t a place where most people come alone. He looks back at the immense rabbit, which is twitching its nose. Lio’s never seen a nose that big twitch before.

“I see why you’d want to come back,” he admits, and takes another bite of his pretzel.

“C’mon, there’s more in the next row,” Galo says, and takes Lio’s hand to tug him onward.

In the end they look at a fascinating variety of striped and spotted and mottled rabbits, though none as astonishing as the fluffball and the giant; then at chickens — also fluffy, apparently — some enormously fat snuffly pigs who are far cuter than Lio expected, and the sheep. (Also fluffy, but less unexpectedly.) The sheds spit them out next to a stall selling breakfast on a stick, which they get out of sheer curiosity; it turns out to be a kind of kebab made out of sausage, berries, and chunks of waffle.

“This is good,” Lio admits around a mouthful of all three. “And more convenient.”

“I told you!” Galo says, and sucks half the food off his kebab at once. Lio might be dating a pelican.

They meander down the row of booths until it opens onto a long avenue of light and color, full of chimes and calling barkers. It’s all carnival games, toys hanging from the roofs and whirring levers in the middle. Lio studies the nearest one, where someone who looks like he’s found a beer cart is throwing darts at a wall of balloons.

“That looks wasteful,” he says, as the dart pops one of the biggest balloons, on the outside of the target ring.

“It’s all biodegradable!” the guy running the booth calls. Which isn’t quite what Lio meant, but a good thing all the same. “You wanna try?”

“I’ll pass,” Lio says, shaking his head. Galo elbows him in the ribs.

“Your aim is great though,” he says, “you could totally win something!”

Lio glances up at the prizes. “What would I do with any of them?” When he looks back, Galo is frowning at him, genuinely fretful.

“You know you can put stuff in the apartment, right?” he says. “I don’t think I said, but you can. You live there too.” Lio blinks.

“Thank you,” he says. “I don’t want to own an ear of corn with a face.” Galo pouts at him. (Galo would object to it being called a pout. Galo would be wrong.)

“Okay but you get the point though!”

“I do,” Lio says, giving in and smiling. “Thank you.” He leans up to kiss Galo quickly, gentle at the corner of his mouth. “You realize that means that if _you_ bring home an ear of corn with a face I’m at least allowed to hide it in the back of the closet. Or set it on fire.”

“ _No fires!”_ Galo protests. “Come on! I’m _a firefighter,_ I can’t have fires in my _house!_ ”

“I’m fairly sure you can have candles in the house without getting kicked off the force,” Lio says.

“I _just said,”_ Galo says. “I lit _one fire, once,_ and that was an emergency, and also a different kind of fire! And an ugly ear of corn isn’t a candle anyway! So there!”

“I’m glad you know it’s ugly,” Lio says.

“Oh, yeah, it looks really stupid,” Galo says. “You could win one and we could give it to Lucia, though!”

“Why would Lucia want one of these things?”

“She’d let Vinny make a nest out of it.”

“I’m not spending however much on nesting materials for a rat.”

“Okay, okay,” Galo says. “And he’s not a rat!”

“Excuse me? _”_

“Oh, hey!” Instead of answering this frankly pressing question, Galo gestures past Lio with his now-empty kebab stick. Reminded, Lio takes a bite of his own. “It’s Ignis and Eulalia!”

Lio turns to look and immediately chokes, spraying bits of berry across the muddy ground. It’s Ignis and Eulalia, all right, a few booths down. Ignis is carrying a massive tub of caramel corn, Eulalia has a plastic tiara perched on her silvered hair, and Eulalia is leaning up to kiss Ignis on the lips.

Galo, ever helpful, slaps Lio’s back with astonishing force.

“ _What,_ ” Lio wheezes, sneezing bits of raspberry out of his nose. “What the hell. When did this happen.”

“I think it’s cute,” Galo says. “Are you really surprised?”

“No,” Lio says, pointing accusatorily, “you’re not allowed to have known about this before me. What in hell. How.”

“Aina’s been asking me if I know anything for weeks,” Galo protests. “I mean, they show up together in the morning all the time! He got her presents and stuff. Why are you weirded out?”

“She’s the closest thing I have left to family!” Lio says. “I don’t think about her _sleeping with people._ ” He makes a face. _“_ Ew.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Galo allows. “I mean, don’t think about that part of it.”

“It’s like pink elephants.” Lio wrinkles his nose, and then finally catches up with his own thought process. He sighs. “Okay. She remembers that I’m an adult when we work together. I owe it to her to act like an adult about this too. It’s not any of my business.” He glances down the row of booths, where Ignis and Eulalia have vanished into the crowd again. “How _old_ is he?” he blurts out.

“I don’t know, I think forty?” Galo says, shrugging. “Something like that. Why, how old is she?”

“She says she doesn’t remember, but she was finishing a degree when the Great World Blaze happened,” Lio says darkly. “One of the harder ones. I never found out how those things worked.”

“Uhhhh…” Galo rubs his head. “I don’t know, I never looked at normal college, just the firefighters’ academy. There’s the normal one and the short one and then I think a Master’s?”

“That sounds right. She was somewhere around our age, anyway.”

“Does it matter?” Galo asks. “It’s not like they’re kids. It’s a good thing! They’re happy.”

“You’re right.” Lio sighs. “She deserves to be happy. It’s been a long time.” He bites his lip. “There… aren’t a lot of the original Burnish left. Most of the people older than that became Burnish later, when they were older. But she’s been there right since the beginning. Almost everyone else burned out.”

“She’s really cool,” Galo says. “World’s second-best Burnish?”

“Don’t say that around Gueira and Meis,” Lio warns.

“Okay, I won’t,” Galo says, looping his arm around Lio’s shoulders. Softly, he says, “That’s really great, though. That she kept going for so long and now she found someone who makes her happy.”

“She has seemed happy,” Lio allows. “And he’s a good man.”

“Definitely.” Galo makes a face. “For real this time.”

Ah fuck. “Kray fooled the whole city,” Lio says quietly. “I didn’t realize how good he was it at. He lied to people a lot smarter than you, too.”

“I trusted him so much,” Galo says, staring at the ground. “I was just a kid at first, and you’re right, he fooled everybody. But…” He shakes his head violently, hair bobbing. “Anyway, the important part is that we stopped him and he’s in jail now! That’s what matters.”

“It is,” Lio says, and takes his hand. And then, calling on his well-honed courage: “Galo, it’s not a bad thing that you think everyone is as good a person as you are.”

Galo’s face floods red. Praise him as a rescuer, a firefighter, and he laps it up and bounces the same words back with new embellishments, but things like this get to him. “Yeah, well,” he says, meeting Lio’s eyes. “I’ll just have to stay that good, right?”

“Good idea,” Lio says, and kisses him again. “So. We’ve had food and looked at rabbits. What else are we going to do?”

“ _Rides,_ ” Galo says, eyes lighting up. “And we should play some of the games, there are ones with better prizes. And this wasn’t nearly enough food!” Lio laughs, letting himself be dragged off towards the blinking lights of the Gravitron.

(Much, much later that night, after dusk has fallen, they end up in line for the Ferris wheel. The breeze blows through Lio’s hair, high above the ground, and he looks out over the fair and sees an endless web of light, pink and neon green and warm welcoming gold. It’s nothing at all like the Promare, but it’s beautiful in the same way. And Galo kisses them with the whole fair spread out below them, his hands in Lio’s hair and the sound of happy people drifting up around them from below, and this: this alone was worth everything he ever had to fight through.)

* * *

By the time Sunday rolls around Galo has clearly recovered from the long stretch of the week, which is to say he’s full of energy and bouncing off the walls. He spends a while in the building’s gym, showers, bounces through the living room, cleans out the fridge, scrubs out the shower, and finally heads out to ride around for a while, to Lio’s immense relief. Galo is wonderful, but he’s not quiet, and Lio has a letter to proofread about housing discrimination.

He’s not overworking himself. He’s playing Sudoku in the other window.

Once, fighting for his people meant actually risking his life. Now it means Googling where to put a comma. If you’d told him that a year ago, it might have seemed petty, but: it _works._ He has a folder of emails, now, people letting him and Eulalia know how they’re doing: _I have my own place, I like my job, I joined a club, I met somebody._ Little updates. Lives being lived. For that, Lio will deal with a thousand commas and call it cheap.

He’s pretty happy with the letter and absolutely stymied by the Sudoku by the time Galo gets home again. Lio has in his absence taken over the entire couch, feet propped up on the far arm. Galo clears his throat loudly, standing next to the couch; Lio gives in to impish impulse and does not move in any way.

“Hello,” he says.

“ _Hi,_ ” Galo says pointedly. Lio hums in acknowledgment and redoes the math on an annoying column. Galo lets out a pointedly huffy sigh, Lio readies himself to be bodily rearranged on the cushions, and instead Galo drops to the floor and leans back against the couch. His head is right by Lio’s hip. Huh.

Thoughtfully, Lio reaches down and settles his hand in Galo’s hair. Galo hums, pushing into it a little, and digs into his pocket. When Lio cranes his head to look, he sees it’s a book of weird stories from the history of firefighting. Of course.

“I thought you read everything at the library,” Lio says.

“This one’s new,” Galo says absently. “They usually tell me when something is.” He frowns, flipping ahead a few pages. “Okay, good, it’s not trying to tell me anyone proved it about the cow.”

“About the cow?”

“That started the Great Chicago Fire,” Galo says. “No one actually knows how it started! And anyway, that’s the most boring part of the story. No offense.”

“I wasn’t offended until you said that,” Lio says. “Are you comparing me to a cow?”

“No! The interesting part of a fire is how it gets stopped, not how it gets started!”

“Neither of them,” Lio says. “It’s while it’s still burning. The way it moves, and the light, all the colors in the flame — did you know you can get purple flames even without the Promare? If you’re burning salt in the wood. And the hints of blue at the bottom of a golden flame, or a fire hot enough for it all to burn blue and steady, like a solid thing, and the way the smoke drifts…”

“Still with the things you can’t say to a firefighter.”

“Can’t I?” Lio asks. “Don’t tell me you don’t like the fighting. Can you not think it’s beautiful while you fight it?” He combs his hand through Galo’s hair as he says it, scritching gently at the shaved part.

“Sure, maybe,” Galo allows, leaning into his hand. “That feels good, keep doing it.”

“Greedy,” Lio says, tugging at a spike of hair. Galo gasps loud enough to echo, and Lio snatches his hand back in horror. He’s about to apologize when he remembers what Galo’s pain tolerance is like. Higher than Lio’s, and Lio still has to remind himself that his flesh takes longer to grow back. That was no worse a tug than breaking through a tangle.

Slowly, he settles his hand in Galo’s hair again.

“You liked that,” he says, only half a question.

“Uh-huh,” Galo says, blinking. “Yeah.” Lio pulls back viciously, hard enough to yank Galo’s head back against the couch. Galo outright moans, eyes falling closed, and it sounds nothing at all like pain.

Well. Nothing like distress _._

“You like it when it hurts,” Lio says slowly.

“Mmm. Uh.” Galo blinks rapidly, shaking his head a little under Lio’s hand. “It’s _hot_. Burning hot.”

Lio’s fairly sure there’s a nuance there beyond just sexy. “Like adrenaline?”

“Sure, yeah.”

Lio licks his lips. “Would you like other ways for me to hurt you.” _This_ isn’t something he’s tried, but he’s heard the jokes Gueira makes to Meis. (He did not need to know this about Meis and Cinder. He knows anyway. Lio is beginning to notice that the people he loves tend to be deeply obnoxious.)

“Okay I’m listening,” Galo says. “I’m super definitely listening.”

“What if I scratch you?” Lio says, and drags his nail across the nape of Galo’s neck, digging in. Not as hard as he could, but enough to leave a faint pale line behind it. Galo shivers.

“Into it,” he says, voice going a little breathy now. Lio licks his lips, staring at that line of raised skin.

“What if I slapped you?” he asks. Guilt hits him as soon as he says the words, a sharp twist under the diaphragm, but Galo doesn’t seem put off. Galo, in fact, catches his breath and twists until he can tilt his head up, presenting Lio with one cheek in clear invitation. The angle’s horrible, but hell, they’re testing it out anyway. Lio pulls his hand back, gives it a moment in case Galo backs out, and then slaps him sharply across the face. Galo’s hips twitch up against the empty air, and Lio’s cock jerks in his pants.

“Yeah, still hot,” Galo says, reaching up to run his fingers over his cheek. “Wow.”

“How far does it go?” Lio asks.

“Huh?”

“What would…” He swallows hard. “What would hurt too much?”

He can see Galo think about it. “I’m not sure,” he finally says. “I mean, nothing _has._ I’ve always been able to push through it. I’m good at that.”

“Huh.” Lio strokes Galo’s hair back, idly possessive. “All right. What hurts enough that you’d rather it never happen again?”

“You dying,” Galo says immediately, which leaves Lio feeling like he’s the one who just got slapped. He blinks for a moment, and then leans down and hugs Galo fiercely, as tight as he can.

“ _You,_ ” he says, incoherent and exasperated and overwhelmed, and kisses his hair. He’d kiss Galo, but he’d fall off the couch. “You.”

“Me what?” Galo asks.

“I meant physical pain, you idiot,” Lio says roughly, and kisses his hair again before he sits back.

“Oh. Huh. Yeah.” Galo chews on his lip. “Yeah, I still don’t know? I mean, I really liked you pulling my hair and I don’t like getting it stuck in something. That’s not fun, it just hurts.”

“That’s… fair enough.” Lio hadn’t thought of it that way, but it tracks. “All right. What if…” He racks his brain, knowing damn well that he only knows the edges of the options here. “What if I punched you?”

Galo’s eyes go wide. “Uh,” he says. “You can if you want to? I mean, you hit me before, I know I can take it.”

“That’s not —” Lio shakes his head, frustrated. “Fine, what if I broke your fingers?”

“Do you _want_ to?” Galo… not-quite-yelps.

“No!” Lio says. “I’m trying to figure out what’s too far, what’s too much. And I need to know —” He figures it out as he says it. “I need to know you’ll say no to me, for this, so I know you mean it when you say yes. I’m not going to want anything you don’t enjoy. I don’t want you to suffer through this because you think I’ll like it.”

“Oh!” Galo says. “Oh, I get it. Okay. Yeah, no breaking my bones. Unless, like you’re giving me actual CPR or I have my arm stuck in something and it’s the only way to get it out, but that’s different.”

“Okay,” Lio says, relieved. “So there’s an outer limit. Pulling your hair is fine, breaking bones isn’t, and we can work it out between there.”

“Yeah.” Galo frowns. “Hold on, give me a second.” His gaze fixes somewhere past Lio; his lips move for a second. Lio lets him think. Galo thinks best in motion, he’s figured out by now; best on the back of a motorbike or with his feet pounding against the sidewalk, and when that isn’t an option, this is apparently the next best thing.

“Okay,” Galo says. “Um. If you wanted to punch me, I don’t know if it’d be fun exactly, not like the earlier stuff was, but I know I could take it, and that part could be fun?”

“You don’t need to,” Lio reassures him. “I’m not even sure I would want to. It was just the next thing I thought of.”

“No, like —” Galo shakes his head, hard enough for his hair to bounce. “I don’t know if the pain would feel good in the same way as the earlier stuff did, but I can take it no problem. I’m good at that, it comes with the job. And toughing it out because you wanted me to, that would feel good. That’d be worth it. With punching,” he adds. “Still leave my bones alone, that would just suck.”

“Huh.” Lio pets his hair again, gently. “Okay. I’ll remember that. That category of pain.”

“Cool.” Galo rubs his head against Lio’s hand. “What else can we do?”

“Hmm.” A memory drifts out of his head, from months and worlds ago. It wasn’t erotic at the time, was just another problem, but now… “You said you liked feeling helpless, before. What if I tied you up?”

“Oh, that’s a great idea,” Galo says. “You’re a genius.”

“You’re easily impressed.”

“That’s not even a little true, you’re just impressive.”

“Idiot,” Lio says fondly. The next question feels big all out of proportion to the act, compared to the rest of it. And yet. “What if I told you to kneel for me?”

Galo sucks in a breath and then surges into motion, twisting around until he’s on his knees at the side of the couch, his forehead pressed against the cushions right by Lio’s thigh. “ _Yes_ ,” he says, a little muffled by the couch. “Yes, definitely, for sure. Whenever you want.”

“Wow.” Lio settles his hand over the back of Galo’s neck, squeezing lightly, and the thrill that runs down his spine is like nothing since — since calling up a throne for style’s sake and staring down at somebody he knew that he could crush. This is somehow very like that and nothing alike at all. Galo would probably have the edge in a fair fight, with the best of Lio’s weapons long gone, but Lio could hurt him in ways far beyond the physical. He’d rather cut off his own hands, wouldn’t even have to think about the choice, but the power there — maybe it’s just another side of the fact that Galo trusts him. Cares about him.

 _Like all I could do was let you make me feel however you wanted me to feel._ That’s what Galo called it, called letting Lio fuck him into the mattress; that’s what Galo is offering him now, here on his knees. He can make Galo feel however he wants, and how he wants Galo to feel is good, precious, wanted, loved. And he can do that. He can make that happen. The pain is part of it, the pain and Galo’s pleasure in it; the pain is, in a way, just here to remind them both of the power Galo’s choosing to hand over to him.

“You’re beautiful,” Lio tells him. “You’re beautiful like this.”

“Mmm.” Galo shifts until he can lean his head against Lio’s thigh. “I used to think about this with… someone else. Just the kneeling part. I didn’t think it was a sex thing when I thought about it, back then, but this really feels like a sex thing.”

“What else would it be?” Lio asks.

“I don’t know, okay?” Galo squirms a little. “It wasn’t a _plan,_ it was just something I thought about a couple of times. I think I was thinking about knights, or awards, that kind of thing? About making a promise.”

“I see.” Lio tosses another vicious curse in _someone else’s_ direction. He probably went around throwing priceless artwork in a garbage heap too, or something like. “What did you want him to do, when you thought about it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Galo says, sudden and stubborn and sharp. “It doesn’t. He’s gone now, and I don’t need anything from him anymore, even if he had anything he could give me. This is you and me, and you’re not my hero, you’re my — you’re my Lio. We’re a team.”

“You have a point about your soul,” Lio says softly, squeezing the back of his neck. “Even if it still sounds ridiculous.”

“Huh?” Galo shifts his head enough to blink up at him. “What does that have to do with this?”

“There’s no one else like you,” Lio says. “And the world is worse for it.”

“Huh. Thanks!”

Lio stifles a laugh. His boyfriend is, in addition to being resilient and kind and effortlessly good, completely adorable. “Okay,” he says. “You and me. What do you want from me, right now, when you’re on your knees?” His voice dips deep and shivery on that last, without a shred of conscious intent.

Galo takes a moment to consider it, sinking a bit into the couch. “I don’t think I want anything,” he says at last, a little muffled. “I just want to be here, where you want me. So you know that I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” Lio can feel his muscles going tense under Lio’s hand. “Whatever you want from me, I’ll be it. Do it. Whatever. I’ll find a way.”

“Galo,” Lio says. “Galo, look at me.” Galo does, slowly, eyes wide. “You don’t need to do anything,” Lio promises, cupping Galo’s jaw in his hand. “You don’t need to be anything. You’re exactly what I want, right now, exactly as you are. All you need to do is be you.”

Galo squeezes his eyes shut, hard. “Thanks,” he says again, wavery. “You’re pretty great too.”

“Just remember that.” Lio goes back to petting his hair, gentle and warm and as reassuring as he knows how. “That’s what I want you to do, most of all.”

“Okay,” Galo says. “Mission accepted.”

“Good,” Lio says. He scratches Galo’s hair, and Galo hums a little, leaning into it.

“Should I call you something?” Galo asks.

“Call me something how?”

“I mean, this is kinky stuff, right? Isn’t that a thing people do?”

“I’m not what you’d call an expert,” Lio says. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Sir, I guess?” Galo shifts contemplatively. “Huh. Is it okay if I just do it sometimes?”

“Of course,” Lio says. “And I don’t — I don’t expect any of this when we’re not in the middle of… whatever we’re calling this. This is something we can do when we choose, I’m not trying to change what we are.”

“Got it,” Galo says, nodding. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“How would you feel about being called something?”

“Like… a slut or whatever?” Galo wrinkles his nose. “I don’t like that. That just feels gross, insults and stuff. Except calling me an idiot, I don’t mind that,” he adds. “That’s different.”

“Good to know,” Lio says, laughing a little. “I won’t call you anything else, then. Just my idiot.”

“Yep!” Galo says. “Yours.” He grins. “Sir.”

Lio’s being teased and he knows it and it still tugs at something deep in his gut. “Good boy,” he says, in revenge, and gets to feel Galo shiver under his hand.

“Yessir,” Galo says, and this time it’s a lot less of a joke.

“So,” Lio says. “Are we testing this out?”

“I’m down,” Galo says, aiming for nonchalant and landing at breathy and strange.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Lio says. “Tell me as soon as you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“Yup, I promise,” Galo says. “So are we starting?” and that’s when Lio pulls viciously at his hair, dragging his head back. Galo groans so loudly it’s almost a shout.

“Yes,” Lio says, and rearranges himself on the couch, letting his tablet fall unregarded under the cushions. He swings his spread legs to the floor, knees framing Galo’s shoulders, and reclines against the back of the couch with his hand still pulling Galo’s hair. It’s a familiar posture, and he knows how it looks: commanding, confident, with edges of disdain. It’s satisfying.

“Awesome,” Galo says, sounding strained, and Lio hauls off and slaps him again. The crack echoes through the room, and Galo grins, fierce and glorious.

“How much of that can you take?” Lio asks, nudging Galo’s hip, and this time it really is a dare.

“As much as you’ve got,” Galo says, and hisses when Lio cracks him across the other cheek. Either he’s blushing or the impact is starting to raise redness on his skin.

“Good,” Lio says, and runs his nails over Galo’s shoulders, digging in. “Good boy.”

“Mmm.” Galo wriggles his shoulders happily, and Lio traces over the lines, digging deeper. The marks he leaves now are angry pink, and Galo bites down hard on his lip, but he’s still smiling.

“You’re doing well,” Lio promises, cupping his chin.

“Yay!” It’s quiet, under Galo’s breath, and _oh my God._

“You adorable idiot,” Lio says, tracing Galo’s mouth with his thumb. Galo licks hopefully at the pad of his finger. “Stop that.”

“Okay.” Galo pulls his head back a millimeter, presumably to showcase his obedience.

“Bend forward,” Lio says, and digs his nails into Galo’s shoulderblades. Galo gasps, still appreciative, and Lio traces long sharp lines over his back while Galo shivers at each touch.

“Good,” Lio murmurs, “good,” and Galo leans his head against Lio’s thigh and sighs blissfully as Lio claws him up.

When his fingers grow tired he twists his hands in Galo’s hair again and pulls, and Galo follows the pressure, panting. His eyes are glassy.

“How do you feel?” Lio asks.

“Awesome,” Galo says, sounding drunk. “Great. Fuck you’re hot. Wow.”

“Look who’s talking,” Lio says, and tugs at his hair — reward? Reprimand? Plain punctuation? He’s not sure, and it doesn’t matter, because Galo moans shamelessly and that’s the important part.

“I could suck you off while I’m down here,” Galo offers hopefully. “You know. If you wanted.”

“Who’s in charge here, you or me?” Lio asks, jerking at his hair again.

“Ahh! You, you are, totally you, sorry. Whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy.”

“Good,” Lio says, and scratches at Galo’s hair in unambiguous reward. “You do make me happy.”

“Yay,” Galo whispers again, leaning into Lio’s hand.

“Lean back,” Lio says. Galo does, bracing himself on his hands, which gives Lio what he wanted: a clear view of the flush climbing Galo’s chest, a clear view of the tent he’s pitching in his pants. Slowly, choosing not to examine the impulse, he lifts his bare foot and settles the ball over the bulge of Galo’s cock. Galo hisses in a breath. “How’s that?” Lio asks.

“I don’t think there’s a way you could touch my dick that I wouldn’t be into?” Galo says, squirming a little. “Mmm, that’s — God, you’re hot. I. Any way you want to touch me, I’m good with it. I like doing things you want me to. Or — I’m not doing anything, I guess, but I like…” He shakes his head. “It’s hot, it’s great, please keep putting your foot on my dick if you want to. Also I’m thinking about your boots now and they were always cool but wow.”

“There’s an idea,” Lio says, and grinds his foot gently down. It’s a little surprising how much of the shape of Galo’s cock he can feel, even through fabric, even against such unsensitive skin. “Your other idea wasn’t a bad one either.”

“I — which? Oh! I can blow you?”

“Do it,” Lio says.

“Yeah!” Galo grabs for the button of his pants. “Is it okay if I touch myself too because your foot felt really good and you’re really hot and — please? But I won’t if you don’t want me to but _please.”_

“Go ahead,” Lio says, a little strained. “As long as you can focus on two things at once.”

“I will!” Galo promises, intently determined. And then he’s got Lio’s pants open, pulled down around his thighs, and his mouth closes over Lio’s cock, no teasing at all. His mouth is hot and wet and glorious and Lio’s wound tight as hell, already aching-hard. He gets a grip on Galo’s hair again and tightens his hand in time with his own gasping breath, and Galo groans around his cock. It thrums through Lio’s body like an echoing note.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Lio says, grabbing at the couch; Galo groans again, louder and more showy, sucks at him fiercely and then moans _again,_ and there, that’s it, Lio’s done, shuddering into a thousand pieces, too much pleasure for his body to hold.

He slumps back in the afterglow; he’s still trying to regain feeling in his fingers when Galo cries out. Lio blinks his eyes open on Galo’s shoulders tense and desperate, hand working frantically between his legs; he tugs at Galo’s hair again, trying to help, and Galo gives another wordless cry and collapses forward against Lio’s thigh, free hand slamming into the floor. His shuddering breath brushes Lio’s skin, slows, goes steady.

“You,” Lio says, and licks his lips. “All set?”

“Yeah,” Galo says. “Yeah, I. Wow. Thanks. I. Great. Can I get on the couch now?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Lio pulls himself to the side and Galo climbs the couch like it’s a mountain, arranging himself until he can flop over Lio and press his face into Lio’s shoulder. “Good boy,” Lio repeats, running his hands up and down Lio’s back in all gentleness. “Thank you, Galo, you were so good for me. You were so good.”

“Mmmm.” Galo yawns. “I feel all floaty now.”

“You feel heavy enough to me,” Lio says, petting his hair. “Does anything hurt too much now?”

“Nope, feels great,” Galo says. “I mean. Um. My face feels fine, my head feels fine, my back still stings but I still like it so it’s great. My knees actually hurt a little bit but they’ll be fine in a second probably? I didn’t even notice.”

“I’ll give you a pillow next time,” Lio mumbles. “If you want to do this again, I mean.”

“Hell yes,” Galo says. “Wait, this kind of stuff or me blowing you from the floor in general? Because I want to do both.”

“The one where a pillow would help,” Lio says, patting his back. “I think…” He tries to get his dazed and happy brain to put words in a sensible order. “This is something we can do some of the time, when we want to. Just when we feel like it.”

“Not every time we fuck,” Galo agrees, getting to the heart of what Lio meant with his usual bluntness. “Cool with me. It’s like a game.”

“It… kind of is at that,” Lio admits. Playing pretend, playing at command.

“Should we take turns?”

Lio frowns. “Is that something you want? To give orders?”

“Not really?” Galo shrugs. “But it’s not fair for me to make you do all the work.”

Lio laughs, scritching again at Galo’s hair. “It’s not work for me,” he says. “It’s good.”

“Huh.” Galo sighs against Lio’s skin. “What’s it feel like?”

“Powerful,” Lio says, which is too obvious to be an answer. “Like you trust me. Like I’m strong enough to never let you down.”

“All true stuff,” Galo says, nuzzling at him. “That’s good, then, you should feel like that all the time.”

“I’d die of exhaustion,” Lio says. A thought floats up to where he can’t ignore it: “There’s come on the floor, isn’t there.”

“Also my pants,” Galo says. “Maybe your pants now too. Hey, you told me I could.”

“I did,” Lio says, sighing. “It’s a good thing we don’t have any rugs.”

“Don’t go clean it up yet,” Galo says, squeezing him. “I was good, you have to stay.” He goes very still in Lio’s arms for a second and then lifts his head, blinking. “Uh. What? I didn’t know I was going to say that so how about we pretend I didn’t.”

“How about not,” Lio says softly, and cups Galo’s face between his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. No matter how good you are or aren’t. You’re not getting rid of me unless you throw me out. By the scruff of the neck.”

“Thanks,” Galo says and blinks a couple of times, sniffling. “Wow, now I’m all weepy, I don’t know why. I still feel good!”

“I think it happens sometimes,” Lio says, tracing his thumbs along Galo’s cheeks to catch any tears that escape. “After people play around like this. Also, I know things about some of my people that I really didn’t need to know.”

“Haha, yeah.” Galo drops his forehead against Lio’s. “It’s not bad, I just feel kind of naked?”

“I’ll stay,” Lio promises. “We’ll stay like this until you feel steady again, it’s okay.” He kisses Galo like a promise. “But if that dries on the floor I’m making you clean it up.”

“That’s fair,” Galo agrees, and burrows into Lio’s chest. This is going to get uncomfortable eventually, but Galo has a decent amount of his weight on his own elbows, and if he’s not falling off the couch then how he manages it is his business. For now, Lio pets at his hair and wonders how he got this lucky, how he won this happiness out from the world.

* * *

The next week is less of a long slow abrasion, which is good, because the next weekend is going to be a whole lot less idyllic. Lio might actually prefer to lose teeth by getting punched.

He’s been talked into sedation during the preliminary shit; he suspects this is because the dentist thinks he’s going to bite someone. He’s torn between feeling insulted and the incontrovertible fact that he’s not entirely sure that she’s wrong. Since this apparently means he’ll be in no state to hang on to the back of a motorcycle, they borrow Remi’s truck. (Lio privately thinks he could handle it — he held onto the back of a flame-run motorcycle with what he’s pretty sure was a fresh concussion — but it’s not like that’s a memory he _enjoyed,_ so the truck is fine.)

The dentist’s office is all pale cream and antiseptic blue, with notes of beige just to liven the whole thing up. It smells like floral cleaner and antiseptic, which is nothing like Kray’s cages smelled, but Lio hates it anyway. He gets three pamphlets, signs what seems like seventeen thousand forms, and is given many more injunctions about dental hygiene and sticking to soft food in his immediate future and religiously avoiding straws, before finally being led to the stupid, _stupid_ dentist’s chair. He feels like high-tension wire, about to snap; his shoulders ache with it.

“Okay,” he says, sitting, and lays his arm on the armrest for their inspection.

“This will hurt, but only for a second,” an assistant in purple scrubs advises cheerfully, wrapping a tight cuff around his arm. Lio rolls his eyes.

“I’m familiar with the process,” he says dryly, and she laughs.

“Well, I have to say something, you know, I can’t just bustle around in silence,” she says. Lio’s jaw drops a little. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“I…” Lio shakes his head, remembering flickering fluorescence and the faint smell of old blood and stale sweat. Silent watchers. “Never mind. Go ahead.”

“All right,” she says, and slides the IV in with a sharp pinprick of pain. She moves away, a little unsettled, over to the far counter where another assistant is, for reasons not fully clear to Lio, waiting. Lio’s ears prick.

“…creepy…”

“…respect… medical-related PTSD… used to…”

“…sedation…”

“…on with it…”

The purple-clad assistant bustles back over with a syringe. Lio suspects, based on personality, that she’s forcing a smile under her surgical mask, but it sure isn’t reaching her eyes. “We’re just going to put you under, okay? This might be cold, but that’s it.”

“Fine,” he grits out, digging his fingers into the plastic of the chair to hold himself still. It is, in fact, cold; he closes his eyes, feels himself start to fall out of the world, and at the edge of his hearing there’s the scrape of metal and someone saying, “Good, he’s under.” His last thought is not so much words as a snarl.

The first thing he knows, when consciousness returns, is that he’s been captured.

His limbs are heavy, slow: drugged, he’s been drugged, he’s caught and been pumped full of poison, for Kray’s science, for his _fuel;_ the room reeks of plastic and antiseptic soap, and there’s blood in his mouth and a fouler sting. He snarls, trying to force his body to move.

“Hey there,” somebody says, low, and the adrenaline cuts through the last of the drug and lets him fling himself out of the chair, across the floor.

“Get _away,”_ he snarls, scrabbling — the Promare won’t answer, there’s no fire, _what did they do to him_ there’s no fire, he’s helpless, wait, that’s normal, he doesn’t have a weapon, there has to be something — he grabs for the nearest tray, finds some kind of smooth sharp metal under his hands. “Don’t get near me, don’t touch me, I’ll kill you if I have to.” The room is a blur of white and beige, shining silver and people in scrubs; it’s not that he can’t see right exactly, but nothing he sees stays in his mind for more than a moment. There’s shouting, concerned voices; Lio gets his back into a corner and waits for his head to clear, or for someone to come for him. He’s not sure how he’s getting out of this one, but he’s not going to make it easy.

“Hey, Lio!”

“Galo?” That’s not what Lio meant by someone coming for him. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh.” Galo kneels next to him, settling his hand over Lio’s shoulder. “I’m here to rescue you, of course. Put that thing down, okay? I’ve got you, it’s fine.”

Lio tries to focus. “They drugged me.”

“Yeah, I know. It’ll pass, though, okay? You’ll be fine. Come on. I’ll get you out of here.”

“I don’t know if I can stand,” Lio admits. “Galo, you have to get out, you’ll get caught too.”

“I can carry you! Let’s try, though, okay? Here, give me that… hook thing, okay? You’re not gonna need it, I’ve got it covered.”

“This is embarrassing,” Lio mumbles, letting Galo pry his makeshift weapon out of his grip. He’s not in enough control to fight well anyway. “Keeps happening. You have to leave me if I slow you down, Galo, you can’t get caught with me.”

“Nobody’s getting caught, okay? Everybody’s getting out. Come on _,_ I’m the great Galo Thymos, you know that by now. I’m not leaving you behind and we’re not getting caught either.” Galo takes his hand. “Come on, up.”

“Ungh.” Lio lets himself be dragged up and finds he can get his feet under him, at least. “Where’s the exit?”

“This way, right over here. C’mon, I’ve got you, I’m getting you out.”

More antiseptic, more florals, more blurring linoleum shapes. “There’s people,” Lio mumbles, trying to focus his eyes. “Won’t they stop us?”

“No, uh, they… were so impressed by my speech that they decided to let you go?”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Hey, I’m doing my best here! They’re not gonna stop us, okay? Let’s just get outside, huh, it’s going to be fine.”

“Keeps happening,” Lio mumbles again. “I need to save you from something, it’s my turn.”

“You already did,” Galo says. “Hey, look, we’re at the parking lot already! Professional rescuing.” It’s gray and dim outside, rain spattering cold on Lio’s skin.

“This isn’t a fire.” This feels like a relevant point. “I can’t _make_ it a fire, Galo, it won’t answer me.” He blinks. “No, wait, it’s — it’s gone. It left. It left, but I’m not… I’m not alone.”

“Never ever,” Galo says. “I mean, unless I’m getting groceries or whatever, but that’s not the same thing. Come on, here, let’s get you in the truck, huh?” He gets the door open, and Lio clambers in and plasters himself in the corner, curling as small as he can. Easy to shield. Galo shuts the door after them and settles his hand in Lio’s hair, stroking gently.

“We should leave,” Lio says.

“No one’s coming after us, they’re all… busy. Busy with something else. Like a pincer thing. Let’s just sit for a while, okay?” He rubs Lio’s shoulder, soothing and steady. After a moment there’s faint music; Lio blinks and blinks again and realizes Galo must have turned on the radio. Old music fills up the car, mixing with the pattering rain, as Lio slowly comes back to himself.

“Well,” he finally says, untangling his limbs. “That was humiliating.”

“Huh?” Galo says, blinking. Lio blinks right back at him. “You were still really high. For medical reasons!”

“So?”

“ _So_? So, what, I — ugh!” Galo throws up his hands. “Look, I see a lot of people who are out of their heads, okay? Adrenaline, smoke inhalation, medical stuff when we’re closest, whatever. I get it, we all do! It’s just a thing. Any rescuer worth the name knows how it works and they’re not gonna make a thing about it.”

“This is a dentist’s office, Galo.”

“Yeah, exactly! So this is what they do _all the time._ If they’re not used to it they’re really bad at their jobs.”

“Oh, and everyone who comes off anesthesia tries to fight off the nurses with a…” Lio frowns. “What _was_ that?”

“I dunno, some kind of metal hook thing,” Galo says. “It’s probably happened before, people do lots of things. It’ll probably happen again too if she’s Dr. Aviva’s friend. Not a big deal.”

Lio sighs, propping his feet up on the dashboard. “I hate being helpless,” he grits out. “I hate losing control.”

“Okay,” Galo says, shrugging. “It’s over now, though, right?”

“Painkillers.”

“Oh, they’re nothing like that! I was on them for a little after my arm got burned up, they just make you kinda sleepy.” He shrugs. “Anyway, you can stop taking them if they’re worse than the pain, it’s just to make you comfortable.”

“You and your pain tolerance,” Lio says, shaking his head.

“What? Anyway, you’re super tough. You can try taking the pills and if you hate it you can stop. Or try stopping and start again, or whatever. It’s as-needed, all you need to do is not take too much.”

“Stop being logical,” Lio grumbles.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” Galo says cheerfully. “Wait’ll I tell Aina.”

“Heh.” Lio leans his head against the window. “I don’t get flashbacks like that,” he tells the raindrops on the window. “Not like Meis does — shit, pretend I didn’t tell you that.”

“Already forgotten.”

“Heh.” Lio doubts very much that this is true; it’s the kind of thing that Galo holds on to. What he forgets are the things he _doesn’t_ think are important. Well, that and whether or not he’s started the dishwasher. “You’re probably wondering,” he says, watching the rain spatter on the pavement.

“Not really? I mean, I can guess.”

“Yeah.” Lio shrugs. “Getting captured to break people out — when we met, that wasn’t the first time. Sometimes it didn’t go smoothly. Sometimes it took a while. That’s all.”

“Okay.” Galo squeezes his shoulder. “You know it’s not a big deal, right? Not, you know, the human experimentation, that’s definitely a big deal, but like.” He shrugs. “Things pop up. It’s fine.”

“I think I know what you mean.” Lio sighs, rolling his head on his stiff neck — from the surgery? just from waiting in the car? — and turns back to Galo. “Let’s go home.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Galo says, and hits the ignition.

* * *

It’s still raining by the time they make it home. Lio is immediately installed on the couch with two extra pillows and every blanket Galo owns, which is frankly ridiculous. Lio wouldn’t let anyone else get away with this kind of fussing, but he’s unaccountably exhausted, or maybe accountably so, and he took a Vicodin on the way home which is _not_ helping that situation. And besides, it’s Galo.

“I’m gonna heat up some soup,” Galo offers. “I mean, if you want some. Also if you don’t want some, I want chicken noodle now, but I’ll heat up more if you do.”

“Chicken noodle sounds great,” Lio says, burrowing his way under a reasonable quantity of the blankets. The others are just sort of strewn around.

“Awesome!” Galo zips off, and Lio curls up in the corner of the couch and laughs. It could be the medication, but honestly, Galo’s just funny. He watches the rain spatter against the window and listens to the humming of the microwave, which is rapidly joined by the only-slightly-more-melodic humming of Galo. Eventually he shifts to singing tuneless and low, which is enough for Lio to recognize it as the song from the car, something playing on the oldies station. “I think I’m coming alive now, I think I’m coming alive with you…”

“It’s a good thing you’re a firefighter,” Lio says blearily.

“Hell yeah it is!” Galo says, and then, “Wait, what?”

“As opposed to a singer,” Lio clarifies, and gets to watch Galo’s face go through four different iterations of betrayal at once.

“I am _making you soup_!” Galo says finally. “And I’m going to still give you soup after that because I’m the best boyfriend ever, but you’re _lucky as hell,_ I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Lio says, yawning. “I really do.”

“Well now you’re being cute and sincere and I can’t stay mad,” Galo says, as the microwave beeps. “Pretty sure that’s cheating.”

“At _what_?”

“I dunno, life? Fair play is important.”

“You’re such a boy scout,” Lio mumbles. “Do those still exist? Eulalia mentioned them.”

“No idea,” Galo says. “Here’s your soup. Jerk.” He hands Lio the bowl, then bends over and kisses his cheek. “I’m not gonna kiss your mouth until you’re less likely to bleed on me.”

“Fair enough,” Lio concedes. His mouth doesn’t exactly hurt, but he’s very aware of it, faintly tender. Which means the painkillers are probably doing something besides making him feel like his brain’s been wrapped in cotton. “Where’s my tablet?”

“Hidden in a place you can’t reach until you’re not on painkillers anymore,” Galo says. Lio glares over the bowl of soup.

“First of all, there aren’t that many high shelves in this apartment,” he says, “so if it’s out of reach you’ve more or less told me where you hid it. Second, whatever happened to how these would leave me mostly lucid?”

“Yeah, well, there’s exceptions,” Galo says, shrugging. “Anyway, Eulalia told me to hide it and she’d deal with everything till your mouth healed up.”

“What? She didn’t say anything to me about that,” Lio says, frowning.

“Duh?” Galo says, sliding to a seat on the floor by Lio’s feet. “Hey, gimme a pillow.”

“I don’t actually need to take up the whole couch,” Lio says, but dislodges a pillow obediently.

“Yes you do and then you’ll put your feet in my face,” Galo says, arranging himself happily on the cushion.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Uh- _huh._ ” Galo rolls his head back in order to give Lio a deeply skeptical look. “Anyway, I wanna stretch my legs out, the chairs in that waiting room were _really_ hard.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“ _Sor_ — shut up, Lio.” Galo reaches back to poke him in the ankle. “Like the world’s best firefighter can’t put up with a stupid chair. Drink your soup.” Galo takes a massive slurp of his own to prove the point, drinking directly from the bowl.

“Hold on, you gave _me_ a spoon.”

“This is faster. But you’re not supposed to be sucking on things, so spoons for you.”

“Shame for you,” Lio mumbles, just to make Galo’s ears turn red. “Anyway, I think that’s just straws.”

“Better safe than sorry! Anyway, I already gave you the spoon so use it.” Galo takes another slurp of soup.

“Why did I let you talk me into this again,” Lio grumbles, loading up a spoonful of soup.

“So you don’t die young of a tooth infection, I think. Want the TV remote?”

“Eh.” Lio shrugs, deciding it’s not worth rehashing the argument about the odds of said infection. Especially when the teeth have already been removed. “You could put on one of your book recordings, actually. That sounds good.”

“Oh, great!” Galo bounces up, only barely not killing the soup. “Lemme just find a good one. Hmmm.” He fiddles with the speaker for a bit. “Okay, there we go.”

 _This is where the dragons went,_ a polite British voice proclaims.

“I forgot how weird these were,” Lio mumbles.

“You had a fire that was alive living in your chest most of your life, how is that weirder than a dragon,” Galo says. “Wait, should I not joke about that?”

“It’s fine,” Lio says, yawning.

“Okay, then shut up and stop talking over the book,” Galo says, and wanders back to plop himself on the cushion again. Idly, he reaches up to take hold of Lio’s hand, and Lio closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him. A plasterer is arguing with a watchtower about wizards, or possibly that’s the painkillers, when he drifts into sleep.

He drifts awake a while later, mercifully aware of his surroundings this time. The book has gone silent, and Lio has managed to scatter three blankets and a couch cushion across the living room, via some sleeping method his waking self cannot begin to imagine. Galo is somewhere else, presumably the bedroom. The rain has stopped, and mist is rising thick and white from the Promepolis streets. Lio pulls himself off the couch, still swathed in a blanket, and wanders over to the window to look down. A tree peeps out of the fog like an island in the ocean — the one time Lio saw the ocean — and headlights crawl slowly down the street, soft points of gold in the whiteness.

The door creaks behind him. “Hey, you’re up,” Galo says, and wraps his arms around Lio from behind, settling his chin on Lio’s head. “Whatcha looking at?”

“Just the city,” Lio says, yawning. “I used to hate it, but the truth is, it’s very beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is,” Galo says, kissing his hair. “Hey, Lio?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. Is that okay?”

Lio’s heart about stops.

“Lio?” Galo asks. “It’s fine if you’re not, I mean, I can wait, or whatever, I just, I wanted to —” That’s as far as he gets before Lio turns around and covers Galo’s mouth with his hand.

“Shut up,” Lio says desperately, “shut up, shut up, you idiot, I’m _on drugs_ , you have to give me a second to catch up.” He closes his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. “I love you too, Galo. More than I ever thought I’d have a chance to love anyone. You _idiot.”_ Galo’s eyes go wide and delighted; Lio can feel a smile against the palm of his hand.

“Mmmph,” Galo says. Lio lets go of him. “Okay, how much does your mouth hurt right now?”

“It’s fine,” Lio says, and immediately, as gently as possible, Galo kisses him.

 _I love you,_ Lio thinks, _I love you, I love you, I love you._ He twines his fingers between Galo’s and knows, _knows_ that Galo is thinking the same thing.


End file.
